


Turn Back the Clock

by Charity_Angel



Series: Destiel fixes [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Do-Over, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/pseuds/Charity_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is offered the chance to change the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I said I wasn't going to go back and fix any of the older episodes. I lied. I do that sometimes when it comes to fanfic.
> 
> Before anyone gets too invested, etc etc, I wish to make it plain that this is not likely to be updated regularly. This first chapter was witten for a prompt on fan_flashworks (#7: "Do-Over") and got away from me. I will finish it in good time, but I've tried posting on a regular basis before and found it didn't work for me. I don't want to make promises I can't keep. But feel free to subscribe :)
> 
> Chapter 1 was written for the 7th challenge: "Do-Over", and posted during the 20th amnesty.

He couldn’t do this: he couldn’t get Cas back and lose him all over again in the same day. He couldn’t just trade Cas for Sam. This was bullshit! Why couldn’t things just go their way for once? Why couldn’t the three of them just be healthy and happy and left alone to do their own thing for once in their lives? Why was it always down to them to save the freaking world?

He pulled the car over at the side of the road and deliberately didn’t look at Sam because Dean knew damn well that Sam would have that sympathetic, understanding look on his face; the one that he saved for wheedling important pieces of information from grieving family members and for when Cas was in deep, deep shit. The look that meant he really wanted Dean to talk about his feelings or some such crap. Because Sam knew noth… no, Sam knew fucking _everything_ , because he always did, and Dean couldn’t look at that amount of understanding, that level of sympathy right now. He just couldn’t deal with it. He needed space to think, to work out what he could do to save Cas. Work out who was left for him to turn to.

He shoved the door open with both hands and stumbled out of the car, the soft grass of the verge cushioning his unsteady steps when what he really wanted – what he really _needed_ – was harshness that jarred his knees, an edge of physical discomfort to distract him from his tumultuous thoughts, sharpen his mind so that he could have that clarity that came with the hunt.

There was a copse of trees maybe a hundred yards from the car, too small to be home to anything nasty, offering tantalising seclusion, somewhere _away_ that he could get himself back together and then work out how to put his angel back together again.

He made it – barely – before he collapsed to his knees and lost what little there was in his stomach. This – this was too much. The world couldn’t demand this of him again: Dean had given everything – his dad, his brother, his angel – to bring a screeching halt to the apocalypse. He had watched Sam be buried by memories of Hell, drag himself back out only to lose himself to Lucifer. He had watched Bobby fight a bullet to the fucking brain to try and help them one last time. He had seen Cas self-destruct before learning to ask for help, and now he was beyond even that as he was trapped in a fight inside his own _head_ against his older brother. And Dean was just so _done_ with it all. All the bullshit of their lives.

But who was left to help them? Who was left alive out of their allies? Not Bobby, not Gabriel, not Anna, not even Balthazar. And there was no way in, well, _Hell_ , Dean was going to make another crossroads deal, because Crowley wanted Cas too damn bad for that. There was no-one.

No, there was one person left who cared about Cas, who had the mojo to help him. The question was, would he listen? Did he care _enough_?

“Look, God,” he stuttered out, his mind slipping easily into ‘prayer mode’ after so much practice in praying to Cas, “we’ve had our differences; things have been said, and I think You know I wouldn’t ask, but it’s Cas. He’s… Jeez, I don’t even know exactly, but he’s not okay, and who knows what he’ll do, what he _can_ do right now? And I’m scared – he can’t protect himself right now, and I can’t be there for him because of this mess… Just, _please_. He needs Your help.”

“I’m impressed, Dean.”

The voice was soft, gentle, and he knew it from somewhere. He looked up slowly, his eyes snagging on the pristine white shoes and slacks, and his mind tried desperately hard not to fall into the threatening flashback to that hideous memory of Lucifer wearing the same when he was riding Sam in 2014. Because this wasn’t Sam – the voice was all wrong and those feet weren’t big enough for his gigantic brother. He forced his eyes up to look at the face of this intruder, this interloper in his sanctuary.

“Chuck?!”

Chuck smiled serenely and stroked his hand across Dean’s cheek to brush away a tear.

“No, Dean; Chuck is my vessel. Prophets are peculiarly gifted that way.”

Figured. The body language was all wrong for Chuck anyway – this dude was standing tall and self-assured and didn’t reek of booze and stale sweat. The suit was spotless (and who wore a _white_ suit, really?), the hair and beard both neat and tidy, the eyes bright.

“It took faith, and a lot of courage, to make that prayer,” Chuck said, His eyes soft. “But more than that, it was your love for Castiel that called me here.”

Dean flushed but said nothing. He had only just started admitting that to himself, goddammit; there was no way he was ready to be called out on it by Cas’ dad, of all people.

“Castiel is… special,” Chuck continued, His eyes softening as if He could see what Dean was thinking. And He probably could, if Dean was honest with himself. “He has never been quite like his brothers, and I was glad to see that he found you. He deserves someone who can care for him.”

“He deserves a family who aren’t complete fuckwits,” Dean snapped, finding that he was unable to censor the thought before it escaped him. And he had so wanted to keep his cool and play nice with this guy. This was the guy who could help Cas, after all: Dean _needed_ to play nice with Him, given that He was here and all, paying attention for once in the last few thousand years.

Chuck actually nodded in agreement. “That’s a fair assessment,” He admitted ruefully. “But I believe your father once told you that family doesn’t end with blood?”

Dean frowned, because that… yeah, that was his dad, wasn’t it? Bobby. Because Dad had done his best, but Bobby was the one who had raised them, treated him and Sam (and Cas, come to think of it) as his own. Bobby was more of a father than Dad had ever been, and Dean realised that he had thought of Bobby that way for a long, long time. But what was Chuck driving at? Oh. Really?

Chuck gave a gentle snort of laughter. “Yes, Dean, really. Castiel is your family now; yours and Sam’s. You chose each other, and that means an awful lot more to him these days. It’s been nice, seeing him grow up.”

Dean got to his feet, feeling the need to not be kneeling in front of this asshole, even if He was God Himself. The extra height gave him a psychological advantage, at least in his own mind. He steadfastly ignored the part that knew this guy could wipe him off the face of the Earth if he had half a mind to, because that part really wasn’t helping with his height advantage thing here.

“Were you riding Chuck’s ass all along?” Dean growled. Because even if this so wasn’t the time, he needed to know. Had He been talking to them all along, watching them try and fail and stumble and… “Did you watch Ellen and Jo die? Did you watch Cas get blown up by Raphael?”

Chuck shook His head. “No, Dean. I took Chuck as my vessel right at the very end; I led you to Stull Cemetery, but nothing before that. I fully intended to step in if you were not able to stop Michael and Lucifer yourselves.”

“Why the _fuck_ did you wait? Sam spent two hundred years in the Cage because you waited!”

Chuck wouldn’t meet his eyes. _God_ wouldn’t meet his eyes. That was kind of weird, and Dean wasn’t sure whether to feel proud of that accomplishment or worried.

“Neither of my boys… well, none of them really, except for Castiel, had any respect for humanity,” He said slowly. “The fact that it was the two of you and the intense fraternal bond you share, that defeated two archangels, will have given them something to think about. At least, I hope so. Had I intervened, they would have seen it as me taking a side – Michael would have thought I was choosing Lucifer’s, and Lucifer would have thought I was picking Michael’s. Or they might have assumed I was picking humanity over them and banded together to destroy everything –I don’t know.”

Dean eyed Chuck for a good minute, because on the face of it, that was actually quite well reasoned. It made sense, and was something he had never thought about before. He had tried to come up with any kind of reason to try and give to Cas, to make excuses so that he didn’t feel that his dad was a deadbeat. Because Dean knew what that realisation felt like, and it sucked. Bad. He hadn’t wanted Cas to go through that, but he hadn’t been able to think of it.

Then: “Like you don’t have enough mojo in Chuck’s little finger to swat those two if you wanted.”

Chuck’s expression became a little more stern then. “Yes, Dean, of course I have. And they wouldn’t have learned any respect for humanity if I did. I didn’t come here to argue the apocalypse with you.”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked. It was one syllable and he still couldn’t get it out properly. But Cas was in a locked ward with an untrustworthy demon bitch keeping an eye on him while he was seeing Lucifer crawling out the walls or whatever. And Dean couldn’t think of anywhere right now he would rather be, even though it would mean seeing Cas suffering.

And before he knew it, he was there; the same room Sam had been resident in not four hours beforehand, with God at his side. Now, there was something Dean never thought he would hear himself say, or even just think. Cas was sat on the bed, unmoving. He might have looked peaceful, certainly more so than when he had been flinching at everything and everyone earlier, if not for the fact that Dean knew he would have acknowledged his presence readily, probably even with a small smile. He definitely would have noticed the presence of the Almighty himself, because there was no way Cas would have missed Him, even though he had never seen Him before.

Chuck touched Cas’ face tenderly and for the first time Dean truly appreciated that this was Cas’ Father here, the guy who had created him from stardust or whatever. And He did care.

“Dean,” He said eventually, a note of concern in his voice.

“What?” Dean couldn’t look away from Cas and those unblinking, unseeing blue eyes. He was just waiting for the moment where Cas would come back to life, pick up the unnecessary bits of himself, the bits of the vessel that enabled him to interact with this human world.

“Oh, do you need me to go so you don’t fry me or something? Guessing you’re a bit less subtle than Cas when he goes all nuclear?”

Chuck’s hand caught his wrist and stopped him turning to the door. “No,” He said gently. “This is something even I cannot solve. There are layers upon layers of complexity conspiring against Castiel’s psyche at the moment.”

“But…” Dean couldn’t comprehend: this was _God_. He was supposed to be omni… The one that was all-powerful. How could he not be able to heal Cas?

“But we can do something to prevent this from happening,” Chuck said. “I am as capable as my sons at bending time. So, tell me, Dean: when would be the best time to return to?”

He blinked slowly, his brain still kind of stuck back at God not being all-powerful after all. “What?”

“Bearing in mind we cannot alter the outcome of the apocalypse, so nothing before then, when would be the best time to make the changes that will prevent Castiel from causing himself so much damage?”

How the hell was Dean supposed to know that? If God couldn’t fathom it out, how was he? Because, by the sounds of things, it wasn’t just this latest thing with Sam and Lucifer that was messing with Cas’ head. Was it the Leviathan possession? The rest of the souls from Purgatory? Something he had done during the civil war?

“Dean, tell me what my son has been doing since I resurrected him last, after Stull.”

Dean shrugged helplessly and sat down beside Cas. One hand hovered pointlessly for a moment before deciding ‘screw it’ and taking Cas’ hand in his. Cas might not be there right now, but it was grounding to be able to do this, to touch him. Last time Dean had touched him, it was helping him to his feet after he had released the monsters back into Purgatory.

“He missed bits of the story out,” Dean admitted. “He’s been so screwed up he didn’t even tell me. So, after Stull, he headed back to Heaven. He figured that things were a mess up there and the angels would need his help straightening things out.”

Chuck nodded. “That’s why I brought him back a seraph – I gave him the seniority to be able to do that.”

Dean glared. “Dick move, keeping him weaker than Raphael. That assclown wasn’t down with the whole ‘no apocalypse’ routine, wanted to get things back on the rails. And Cas… Cas ended up making a deal with Crowley just to keep his head above water.”

Chuck’s eyes closed and He slumped against the counter. “So that’s… He’s been poisoning himself with tainted souls in place of grace.”

His eyes were desperately sad when they opened again, but Dean refused to feel sorry for Him. Maybe He hadn’t known about Raphael, but He still could have paid attention, could have helped. If even Sam and Dean were noticing that shit was going on with the angels, He must have done.

“So that’s where it all went wrong? I should have made him an archangel? I thought about it, but it seemed too big a jump.

Dean shrugged, and his treacherous mind tried to fathom what Cas would be like as an archangel. Would it change him, make him like his dickbag older brothers? Okay, so Cas wasn’t as mindlessly set on following orders as Michael and Raphael, but the only other examples of the breed were Lucifer and Gabriel; neither of whom were exactly model citizens. Okay, so Gabriel had come good in the end, but he still owed Dean for a few dozen deaths. And he made the dick move of getting himself killed by Lucifer when he could have vamoosed and made himself useful elsewhere. He could have helped Cas get Heaven straight.

Chuck was watching him with an expression oddly akin to Cas’ when all his attention was on Dean, when he seemed kind of charmed by how Dean saw things.

“Gabriel? Yes, maybe giving him a boost and a nudge in the right direction might be useful too.”

“But you said nothing before… Gabriel’s still alive?” That was too much. This was getting insane.

“Licking his wounds over in Europe, last I saw him,” Chuck said with a small smile. “He was very badly wounded by Lucifer; he isn’t what he once was. But that is something easily fixed. Shall we?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Dean shied away from the two fingers Chuck had reached out. “Less zapping, more explaining.”

There was a little sigh, so faint that Dean could pretend to have not heard it if he wanted. And with the big G potentially about to set things right, maybe that was the best thing to do. Because there was no way that Dean was leaving Cas to sit in this dank little room with its peeling paint and slightly rusty bedframe for a moment longer, not now he was back here again, with Cas’ hand warm in his. Not when he maybe had the opportunity to feel Cas respond to having his hand held. Not when he could maybe save Sam properly. Was that even possible? He didn’t know how Cas had done it before, when he had yanked Sam’s body out of the Cage but not his soul, and he couldn’t imagine that Archangel Cas would find it as easy as Seraph Cas had, given that the Cage was meant to hold archangels.

“I’m sending you back to the moment I resurrected Castiel,” Chuck said. “At that point, I seem to remember that you were badly beaten, Bobby was, um…”

“Dead,” Dean spat out.

“Yeah. Cas will heal the two of you, and you will change the events that followed. Cas will still have work to do in Heaven, because that’s who he is, but Gabriel will help him and you will help them both avoid what came to pass here. I don’t want to see My youngest parading around believing he’s Me again.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t want to see that either. And he so desperately wanted to ask about the ‘youngest’ thing.

“I will put the situation your brothers found themselves in right. I can’t take away all their time in the Cage, but I can at least cut down the time they spend there, minimise the effect it has on them.”

It would do. It was better than nothing, and God, Chuck, _whoever_ seemed to be pro-not-Apocalypse Now. He also seemed pretty much okay with Dean holding Cas’ hand, with the feelings that were worming their way out and insinuating themselves firmly in his brain now that Dean was acknowledging them.

Slowly, Dean stood, and he turned his back on God, bent back down and brushed his lips very softly against Castiel’s. It was a promise, nothing more.

“See you on the other side, Cas,” he whispered before turning back to God.

“And Dean, one last thing?” Chuck hesitated, his fingers hovering a mere inch from Dean’s forehead. “Don’t screw with my boy. I will know, and I will make Zachariah’s torture look like child’s play.”

Dean gulped. “Yessir.”

And suddenly Dean was blinking up into the bright sunlight that haloed Cas as the angel – shit, the _archangel_ stood over him, smiling gently. Dean remembered this.

“Cas!” He scrambled to his feet and hugged him close. “You’re okay!”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, that voice a soft rumble in his ear. “I am better than okay.”

“You’re awesome,” Dean told him, trying to hold things together, not to rush things just yet. Because when he opened his eyes and looked over Cas’ shoulder, Bobby was still lying there, neck broken and eyes glassy. There were things that still needed doing before he could make sure that Cas stayed okay.

Cas seemed to follow this, either reading his mind or simply feeling the moment Dean went from relaxed to stiff. Because it wasn’t easy, even knowing that Cas could fix Bobby in the blink of an eye, knowing that they could change things, that the Leviathans would never be released from Purgatory, that Dick Roman would not get in that lucky shot that ended it all.

Cas extricated himself from Dean’s embrace easily and knelt at Bobby’s side, healing him with barely a thought even though Dean remembered that when Cas had been blown to pieces by Lucifer, he had been so human he had slept the previous night, he had eaten and drunk and done all the things humans needed to do. And now he was an archangel.

Dean explained to Bobby and Cas what Sam had done, much as he had before. Because he didn’t want to go through all this with Bobby when he wasn’t sure yet what he was going to say to Cas. He didn’t want all the questions that Bobby would inevitably have and have to drag Cas’ name through the mud for something he hadn’t even done yet; for something he would now never do.

Bobby had climbed back into his battered old truck and started on the long drive north. And Dean slid onto the hood of the Impala. Cas perched next to him, and Dean took the opportunity to slide his hand into the angel’s. Cas glanced down curiously, then back up at Dean’s face.

“I know you gotta go back upstairs,” Dean said, hoping he didn’t sound half as bad as he felt just saying the words, “but don’t stay too long, yeah?”

“Dean,” Cas said carefully, with that little frown of his; the adorable one that he did when he was trying to fathom humans out. Or really, just Dean. “Your promise.”

He knew which promise Cas was referring to, even though Dean had made another one more recently; a new promise that Dean was fully intending to keep. (And he wouldn’t have to feel bad about not keeping his promise to Sam, since Sam would be out of Hell soon enough.)

“Lisa’s not the one for me, Cas.”

And he closed the gap, kissed Cas for the second time in the space of an hour. Only this time, Cas responded. He was cute and clumsy, but he got the idea quick enough. His lips were soft and warm, and sent tingles up and down Dean’s spine.

Dean had pulled away, leaving things sweet and chaste for now, before their guest had a chance to ruin the moment. But she tried.

“Sheesh, you two took your sweet time.”

Dean sniggered. He couldn’t help it. Chuck had said that Gabriel “wasn’t what he once was”, but that was ridiculous. Because she was just a kid, probably no older than Adam; maybe British, more Sam’s type than Dean’s: tiny, maybe even shorter than Meg’s latest vessel, or Ruby’s last one, but just curvy enough that Dean wouldn’t have turned her down; dark blonde waves cascading over her shoulders and familiar eyes the colour of sunlight shining through whisky.

“Eat me, Gabrielle.”

The pint-sized archangel grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, Deano, you wouldn’t want to upset Daddy by flirting with Cassie’s sister on the first date, would you?”

Cas, for his part, looked scandalised. Insomuch as Cas ever did. “Gabriel, what are you wearing?”

She turned that hundred-Watt grin on Cas. “Fourth generation nephilim,” she said proudly. “My great, great granddaughter.” She dusted off her hands on her jeans, making them cling to her slim legs. “Isn’t she a looker?”

She kind of was, actually, but no way was Dean going to say that out loud. Not after the flirting comment.

“And like you can talk, kid, with that empty vessel of yours,” Gabriel continued playfully before straightening and going all business on them. Which was kind of terrifying in Gabriel, because his – _her_ – business generally meant trouble for Dean.

“Now, Daddy insists I help get Heaven straightened out, says we might have to kick Raph into touch, and that your boy toy can tell us all.” She eyed the pair of them carefully. “And I’m guessing He hasn’t exactly given you any lessons about how to rock all that extra mojo you’re carrying?”

Cas rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “No,” he admitted sheepishly.

“So, Deano, tell me how you’ve got your mind shoved in that body?”

Dean flicked a stray blade of grass off the hood of the car nonchalantly. “Your Dad talked to you and you haven’t guessed?”

“Figures.”

“Yeah. So, anyone fancy fixing the world over beer and pizza? I'm starved.”


	2. Chapter 2

They relocated to a pizza parlour in Lawrence and Dean hesitantly told his two companions about the last two and a half years, from his perspective. It wasn’t as straightforward as it could have been because he didn't exactly want to tell Cas exactly what had happened with the whole Leviathan thing so he was editing as he went (and very much aware that was pretty much exactly what had gotten Cas into trouble in the first place), and because he distracted himself by demanding to know what the hell had really happened to Gabriel back in Muncie, then Gabriel wanted to know what had just gone down in the cemetery, then they both ganged up on Cas and bullied him into partaking in the gigantic pizza, which inevitably led into Gabriel having to show Cas exactly how she tasted things like a human and therefore enjoyed food, which then brought Dean around to the subject of her new vessel.

“Not that complicated, really,” she said inelegantly around a bite of cheese and meat goodness; “I got a girl knocked up back in eighteen ninety-eight, married her. We raised our kid together, kept him off Heaven’s radar. He got a girl in trouble, married her, had a kid. _He_ did things the ‘right way round’ –” (Dean grinned at Gabriel using air quotes, just like Cas did) “got married first, then had a kid. _She_ got herself knocked up by a stranger, and here we are today.” She gestured to her vessel in an all-encompassing sweep of her hands, as if that potted history explained everything. Like what the hell a ‘nephilim’ was. Dean was guessing it was kind of like the angel equivalent of a cambion, but not quite the same. There were so many questions he wanted to know the answer to, but now wasn’t the time to ask them. So he limited himself to just the most important one for now:

“And she’s okay with you hijacking her body?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Said yes, didn’t she? Ask her yourself when I head upstairs for a bit. Which I am not looking forward to, by the way.”

“Perhaps you should say it once more, sister, just to reinforce the point,” Cas said, dryly enough, but Dean was sure there was a note of something bitter in there. He knew there were issues between Cas and Gabriel – that had come through loud and clear back in Wellington, and he was kind of worried that he might have to wade into that thorny issue at some point in the not-too-distant future – but he hadn’t expected Cas to be _bitchy_. Maybe it was just the stark reminder that Gabriel could have returned to Heaven at any point and been welcomed with open arms, whereas Cas would have had a blade shoved through his heart before he could so much as cross the threshold.

“Come on, Castiel,” Gabriel said, gesticulating wildly with her slice, “you can’t believe it’s going to be easy to convince those mutton-heads that we’re going to start singing without a hymn sheet?”

Dean hadn’t believed it could be possible for Cas to sit any more stiffly. He had been wrong.

“Those ‘mutton-heads’ are our brothers, Gabrielle,” he pointed out icily. (Which Gabriel had actually insisted on being called in public, to match her new meat suit. And then talked openly about the eighteen hundreds and getting some poor girl pregnant.)

“They’re sheep, Cas,” Gabriel argued. “You know that as well as I do. Their last orders said the apocalypse was on, and Mikey isn’t exactly around to countermand that, is he? And we’re just two deadbeat runaways.”

Okay, that? That wasn’t good. Dean’s skin tried to crawl away as the air around Cas began to crackle, but Dean couldn’t let himself react how his instinct told him to: Cas was chock-full of unchecked new mojo and needed grounding before he did something he would regret. Like levelling the city, for example. So he reached for Cas’ hand instead, trying not to think about the fact he really should be on the other side of the planet from this potential pissing contest, that Cas could smite him with a single thought, or burn his eyes out for the fun of it. He had do to something, because the last thing they needed right now, an hour after averting a smack-down between two archangels, was a smack-down between two archangels, one of whom didn’t know how to pull his punches yet.

Taking Cas’ hand turned out to be a good move, because it seemed to remind Cas that there were other, much more fragile people around them. He didn’t relax any, but his body language slid into ‘alert solider’, his tension coming from being completely aware of his surroundings and wary of the humans around him rather than pure irritation aimed purely at Gabriel without a thought for anything or anyone else.

Glancing over the table at Gabriel, who was evidently as much of a dick as ever, Dean noticed a change in her too: she was no longer sprawled inelegantly over her side of the booth, self-assured and indolently taking up as much space as she possibly could while trapped in the confines of that petite little package. Now she was sat up, her eyes scanning their surroundings carefully, subtly. And if Dean didn’t know any better, he would say that wasn’t even Gabriel in the driver’s seat any more.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “I’ve shoved Gabrielle onto the naughty step until she can behave. I’m Ellie.”

This really did bring Castiel up short, his terse expression morphing into incredulity. It was the vaguest movement of a very small number of facial muscles, but it had always been enough for Dean to read him and was apparently also enough to convey his state of mind to this complete stranger.

“You know it isn’t impossible,” she said with a laugh that was much lighter than Gabriel’s. “I’ve just listened to Dean tell us that Sam did it not an hour ago, and he’s human. As you so eloquently pointed out, I’m not.”

Dean grinned and nudged Cas. “She’s got a point.”

Ellie gave them both a shy smile, which turned just a little bit devious quickly, cementing the family resemblance to Gabriel’s old vessel.

“He’ll never tell you this, but he actually has a lot of respect for both of you for standing up against Michael and Lucifer. And she is very, very fond of you, Castiel, but he is worried about going back to Heaven: she doesn’t think there will be many angels pleased to see her, and the ones that are will want her to stay and take up Michael’s mantle.”

Dean could feel himself frowning as he tried to work his head around the pronouns, given he was pretty sure that Ellie had just referred to Gabriel as both a ‘him’ and a ‘her’. Which kind of made sense, in a really weird way, because Dean was still struggling with that a bit himself, to be honest – he knew, intellectually speaking, that angels were junkless, sexless and genderless, but he was used to thinking of all of them as male (except Anna, but that was because she had gone and gotten herself all born female and everything). He was also used to Cas calling them all ‘brothers’, and said brothers appearing in male meat suits. But even Cas had borrowed a girl, that one time. Dean knew it was possible, and had Gabriel first appeared as a girl, Dean might not have trouble thinking of her that way now. He couldn’t imagine how much more difficult it must be adjusting your pronouns to refer to someone in your own family.

“-her job,” Cas was saying. He definitely still sounded irritated. “Of course our brethren will expect that.”

“Gabriel’s job was to ferry messages between God and the angels doing His work; or to humans. That and dish out justice on Earth. She isn’t like the other archangels. She was never meant to stay in Heaven, to rule.” Ellie was all hands, speaking passionately, some of her mannerisms so like Gabriel that Dean wondered where the line was drawn between them; whether or not she had been like that before her great-grandpappy started hitch-hiking in her head.

Cas glanced away from them both. It was very un-Cas-like behaviour: normally he was all about the eye contact. Dean remembered a time when he had wondered if there was something to the legends that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and that Cas might be able to see something that humans couldn’t. Then the shitstorm with the souls, and Sam’s lack thereof had happened, proving that Cas couldn’t see souls after all and Dean found himself wondering once again what it was about eyes that Cas normally found so fascinating. And why he wasn’t looking at Ellie’s right now.

“She was never meant to stay away, either,” he said softly. He sounded heartbroken, and Dean couldn’t resist squeezing his hand in a gentle reminder that Cas wasn’t alone and would never have to be again if Dean had anything to say about it. This was something he was sure he could do: Dean was used to caring for people, comforting them when they were upset. Although he wasn’t usually so touchy-feely about it, this didn’t feel like the world was all backwards, having angels hanging off his every word, teaching them about mistakes that had been made and things that were to come. This felt natural, easy, and why wouldn’t he want to comfort Cas? Cas was his best friend and the being he was in love with – it was only natural to reach out to him when he was hurting.

Ellie’s expression twisted into something pained. Infinite years gathered behind her eyes.

“Cas, I’m sorry I hurt you,” Gabriel said, her voice soft and actually sounding sincere. “I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t bear it any more, watching Michael and Raphael change into something different, bickering and wanting me to take sides.”

“I missed you,” Cas admitted. “You were the only one who understood me, who protected me from re-education.”

Dean could have a pretty good guess what Cas meant by ‘re-education’: he had seen the results of it. Twice. Once in Cas himself. Dean had always known that something really crappy had happened to Cas when he had got hauled back to ‘Bible camp’, as Dean had called it and would continue to think of it because it sounded less hideous than ‘re-education’. Dean suspected he had some passing familiarity with what had actually been done to Cas, and it made his blood try to both boil with fury and run cold with fear simultaneously: it was bad enough that most angels were such dickbags anyway, but to torture Cas just because he was a little bit different was horrendous and Dean wished he could have persuaded God to resurrect Zachariah, with his memories of being iced intact, just so that Dean could have the satisfaction of pulling his wings off, slowly and painfully. But the thought of someone doing that to Cas, someone _hurting_ Cas, breaking Cas, terrified him too, and he couldn’t explain that one.

But Cas was crazy-powerful now – no-one was pulling that shit on him ever again. He and Gabriel just needed to put their differences aside and work together on this one, to make sure that none of the crap of the last year and a half happened again.

Dean wished he could forget that this was Gabriel he was talking about. It wasn’t going to be that simple with her involved.


	3. Chapter 3

They headed back to Stull Cemetery to let Gabriel head out without being observed, without melting the eyes of the normal people around them. Both angels had pointed out that this was a bad thing, and Dean had agreed readily – just because he could kind of squint at an archangel for a few seconds without going all Pamela on them didn’t mean anyone else could.

That didn’t stop Dean from getting really, really uncomfortable the closer they got to the cemetery; the memories of watching Lucifer wearing Sam so easily flooded in, seeing Cas explode into nothing, Bobby’s neck breaking. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gabriel’s hand touched his shoulder, but when she gave a little, sympathetic squeeze and didn’t move, Dean started to relax into it, appreciate the gesture for what it was. After all, it couldn’t be easy for her to come here either, knowing what was supposed to have happened, knowing that her brothers had fallen into the Cage here, trapped potentially for eternity. Cas seemed equally uncomfortable, and grabbed for Dean’s hand, squeezing almost painfully. Gabriel, leaning over from the back seat, had her other hand on Cas’ shoulder. If he was prone to being girlish (and he would leave that to the angels, thanks), Dean might have thought something sickeningly disgusting like they were a triangle of comfort or something. But that wasn’t his style.

That didn’t stop him from being stupidly grateful that the two angels were there for him, with him, supporting him and each other through this shared pain.

He was also really grateful that Gabriel apparently had enough of a sense of decorum to make herself scarce for a couple of minutes, to give Dean and Cas a chance to say their farewells. Dean wanted to hang on forever, because he knew that last time Cas had left him on this day, they hadn’t seen each other again for over a year. That so wasn’t happening this time, he was determined.

But, he realised as he found himself melting against Cas’ lips, it didn’t look like that was going to be an issue at all. Cas was points of warmth all around him; the long line against his chest, the arm around his waist and the hand cradling his cheek, the dampness of lips against lips a gentle push and slide that Dean would never tire of. Everything seemed right with the world at that very moment, when Cas was right there with him, kissing him. They were together as they always should have been.

His eyes were still closed when Cas pulled away from him. It was only a small movement as he brought their foreheads together instead, as if he was as reluctant to let go as Dean was, even though both of them knew that he had to go.

“I will return as quickly as I am able,” Cas vowed. “Once the situation in Heaven is stable.”

Dean clutched at that familiar coat, crushing it beneath his fingers. “Cas, promise me…”

There was a note of amusement as Cas replied: “I promise I will not make any deals with Crowley.”

Some knot of tension released itself within Dean as breathed a soft sigh of relief. As long as Cas stayed away from Crowley, then the whole Purgatory debacle could be avoided. He and Sam could go back to regular hunts, maybe with Cas helping occasionally. Life could return to normal instead of being one struggle after another. Maybe they could even spend some time at Bobby’s and Dean could enjoy having their family alive and whole again. Maybe that would ease some of the nightmares of that horrendous night, standing helplessly in the hospital, angry at Sam because he had to be angry at someone.

Cas pressed a last, gentle kiss to his lips and backed reluctantly away. Dean forced his eyes open to see the longing in Cas’ whole expression. There was so much still to be said between them, but for now, they were headed in the right direction, on the same page at long last. Gabriel stepped up to Cas’ side and took his hand wordlessly. She barely came up to his shoulder.

“We should get going,” she said. “Hold on tight to those eyeballs, Deano.”

The world went white, and Dean was forced to look away, shield his eyes as the impression of Gabriel got too much to bear. It was something that bugged him all the more now, because he would never be able to look directly at Cas for any real amount of time; never see him as he really was. All Dean would ever know of Cas was the vessel. Not that the vessel couldn’t prove to be fun, admittedly: Dean could think of a few things he could teach Cas about vessels.

When the angels had gone (and Dean was pretty sure that Gabriel had made more of a show of things than she strictly needed to), all that was left was Ellie. Dean had expected her to look tiny without the larger-than-life entity riding her, but she didn’t seem all that diminished, actually.

“So, local boy,” she said without preamble, and with a grin that spoke volumes of Trickster, “what’s the plan?”

 

.oOo.

 

Dean didn’t want to go anywhere, because this was probably where Sam would pop back up and he wanted to be close by when that happened. Ellie seemed okay with that, and sat quietly on the hood of the car, fiddling with her cell phone while Dean filled Bobby in on the plan: he would stay in Lawrence, Bobby would stay in Sioux Falls, and one would call the other the second Sam showed up.

He looked up in surprise when he heard an engine approaching. Slowly cresting over the rise at the gate was an old, baby blue Datsun Bluebird, the misfiring cylinder painful to Dean’s ears. Whole thing needed a good retune by the sounds of things. It pulled up beside his baby and out slid Missouri Moseley.

“Hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t notice something like this,” she drawled, eyeing Dean. He had forgotten just how much her gaze seemed to penetrate, like she could see _everything_ , and was judging you as righteously as an angel could.

“Hey, not my fault,” Dean said quickly, wondering if he could get away with backing away from this terrifyingly maternal woman without losing any man-points with Ellie.

Missouri just looked. She was kind of like Cas in that way, the way in which a look could convey every bit of the complex myriad of feeling she had for you at that moment. Right now she was annoyed and amused and sympathetic and curious. And Ellie had stowed her phone and was watching this latest development with genuine amusement.

“And did you think you could come back here, stirring up trouble, without coming to see me?” Missouri demanded.

“Um…”

Because he hadn’t given that much thought one way or another, if he was honest. He had been so focussed on Sam and Lucifer and Michael, and then Cas and Gabriel that he hadn’t given Missouri much of a thought one way or another.

“You’ll both be needing a place to stay,” she continued, including Ellie effortlessly without even seeming to glance in her direction. “And you can make yourselves useful while you wait for Sam.”

“Of course,” Ellie said graciously while Dean was still busy tripping over his own feet, just like he vividly remembered feeling last time he had met Missouri. “Thank you very much.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, honey,” Missouri said, now turning away from Dean to look at Ellie. “And you can tell me all about what you are while we’re making up my guest rooms.”

Oh good, Missouri could mother Ellie to death instead of him. That worked.

 

.oOo.

 

Missouri already had fresh linens on the line when they got back to her place, and a lasagne ready to be put in the oven. Dean and Ellie were immediately put to work bringing in the dried sheets and hauling them upstairs to where Missouri was pottering about between two bedrooms. The décor might have been a bit old and tired, but Dean had definitely seen worse in motels, and there were a few knickknacks scattered about that gave that touch of Missouri’s personality so that the rooms felt homey and loved, unlike a lot of the motels Dean was used to staying in.

As they worked at making the beds up, Ellie quite happily provided some of her family history to Missouri, filling in some of the gaps that Gabriel had left. Apparently, Gabriel had got himself adopted by the Van Helsings way back when, and had both a brother and a sister. It was the sister’s best friend Gabriel had been stupid enough to get pregnant, but apparently he did actually love her and didn’t just marry her because of the kid. To be fair, if Dean had thought it through, which he now was doing, he couldn’t see Gabriel being manipulated into marrying anyone he didn’t want to, since he had enough power in one fingernail to make people forget about things like that. Ellie was even named after Gabriel’s wife; ‘Elizabeth’ being the English equivalent of the German ‘Liesl’.

Missouri barely blinked at this casual confirmation that not only did angels exist, but that some of them were walking the Earth. 

“But it couldn’t last,” Ellie was saying. “Angels don’t age, and people were starting to notice. Especially when war broke out. Gabriel was Dutch as far as anyone was concerned, but he lived in Berlin, and was claiming to be fifty-two at the time. But Juriaan, my great-grandfather, was half-German, and turned eighteen in nineteen sixteen. So Gabriel faked his death just before, so that Juri would end up being the sole provider and carer for his mother. Meant he couldn’t be conscripted into the German army.”

German? But Ellie definitely wasn’t German: that accent was English, he would stake his life on it. It wasn’t quite the same as Crowley’s, or Bela Talbot’s, but it was still English. How did that work? How did a family go from being German to being English?

Missouri didn’t say anything, just continued to smooth the sheets in tandem with Ellie’s sure, deft movements. It was really weird, watching them work so seamlessly together, but he figured that Missouri was psychic, and he didn’t even know if Ellie was hiding any superpowers under that pale, delicate-looking skin. Missouri had definitely implied she was something other than human back in the cemetery.

“Opa Juri, his husband, and their best friend – my great-grandmother – got out of Germany in nineteen thirty-five, when things were looking bad. My granddad was born in England, and so were my mum and me. Juri was the last one of us with any powers, until me: he was a little bit precog – that’s why he got out of Germany so early, and he got his cousin out of Poland a few weeks before the German invasion too. As I understand it, Mikaeł and his wife came here to the States instead, made a new life for themselves in Illinois.”

She looked up at Dean at this point, with a little smile. “You’ve met their grandson, I think: James Novak?”

It took Dean a moment to connect the name fully, a moment in which Missouri handed him a pillow, clearly expecting him to put a case around it.

“Seriously? Jimmy Novak is your cousin?”

“Fourth cousin, twice removed,” she corrected as she and Missouri shook the duvet between them. “Apparently he’s got the Van Helsing eyes.”

 

.oOo.

 

Missouri was an awesome cook. Dean only had vague, idealised memories of his mother’s cooking, and he imagined this was what her lasagne would have tasted like. Diner food just didn’t compare to something home-cooked by someone who cared enough to feed him for free. He didn’t quite know how this relationship with Missouri had come about, or why, but it was one of very few things in his life he didn’t bother to question. Missouri knew him, his background, and all his faults, and didn’t judge him. She would occasionally threaten to hit him with her spoon when he did something that she considered ill-mannered, but that was maternal rather than anything else. And not an idle threat, he discovered when he sidled over in an attempt to steal brownie batter. He got some batter all right, but only because he licked it off his knuckles after she smacked him good and proper. Ellie, because she was patient and didn’t resort to attempting petty theft, got rewarded with the spoon itself, once it had done its job. Having laughed at him for his misfortune before, she swiped her finger over one side of it and held the spoon out to Dean while she sucked the delicious chocolaty goodness from her hand. He smiled gratefully and helped himself to the rest of the batter while Missouri raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

Once he was done, Ellie dragged him up off the sofa (surprisingly easily for someone so tiny, and he wondered if she still had some angelic mojo left) and cajoled him into drying the dishes while she washed by means of pointedly handing him a tea towel.

There were few places in the country Dean had never felt like he was a guest. Bobby’s was one, but mostly because Bobby growled at him and Sam, and expected them to lend their hands to whatever needed doing around the yard. Missouri’s house slotted in easily alongside Bobby’s, in that ‘home’ spot in his mind: she growled less than Bobby, but her silences and even her easy chatter coupled with expectant glares equated to the same thing. And he knew that he would help her out just the same, do the jobs around the house that needed doing. He would fix the damn car for starters, and take a little time to enjoy the comforts that being home could give.


	4. Chapter 4

As things turned out, Missouri had plans for them that didn’t involve Dean fixing her car or Ellie taking apart her faulty toaster, both of which they had managed to do before Missouri even got out of bed. Not that she seemed particularly ungrateful for either of these things, once she realised exactly what they were both doing at opposite ends of the newspaper-strewn kitchen table. In fact, she seemed touched by their thoughtfulness even as she despaired at having one end of the table covered in meticulously laid out electrical gubbins and the other in equally meticulous parts of her car’s engine.

“It needed doing,” was Ellie’s only comment.

Dean felt the need to elaborate on his self-assigned task: “The car would have crapped out on you inside a month. Damn thing’s not safe to drive.”

“How long you going to be?” she asked, her voice that same gentle tone as ever as she clutched her bowl of cereal to her bosom rather than setting it anywhere on the table’s surface. “Because we got a vampire nest wants clearing out sometime.”

Tools were suddenly set down at both ends of the table, two pairs of eyes suddenly fixed upon their host.

“How big?” Dean asked warily. Taking on a vamp nest solo was suicide, but one or two were manageable.

“Five, or thereabouts,” Missouri said. “It’s difficult to tell – they come and go. Took them a while to work out there weren’t any hunters here any more, but when they did, the vampires moved back in.”

“Five’s doable, between the two of us,” Ellie said. “Although… I hope you’ve got a spare blade, Dean: Gabriel didn’t really think this through before ditching me here.”

He turned his gaze to her, mystified.

“What? The Van Helsing thing didn’t give it away?” she teased. “Or is this some macho thing about girls being hunters?”

Dean winced at that, because he hadn’t actually been thinking that at all, but now that he was, girl hunters just didn’t tend to survive as long. It sucked, but it was true. He didn’t actually know of any who were still alive. Maybe that Tamara from years and years ago, whose husband had died, but no others.

“Or is it just because I don’t look as badass as you?”

There was definitely some truth in that: she looked like freaking Tinkerbell, with that blonde hair scraped up into some messy kind of bun thing to keep it out of her way while she was working on the toaster. Now she wasn’t hauling an archangel around, there was something of the Disney princess about her, all little and delicate and breakable next to the big burly princes of the world.

Then he remembered how she had pulled him to his feet with so little effort the previous evening, and how she had said that her great-granddad – Gabriel’s son – had been the last one in their family with any mojo, ‘until her’. So she was a bit supernatural after all, and Dean had seen plenty of things smaller than her that were perfectly capable of handing him his ass. Admittedly they were all faeries, but it basically proved that size didn’t matter when it came to badassery in their line of work: faeries were vicious little bastards and from the look on her face, he was beginning to believe that Ellie might very well be too.

“You taken on a vamp nest before?” He picked up the gasket he had been cleaning, trying to keep it looking casual, and therefore hopefully sounding it too.

“Not for a while,” Ellie admitted. “Even I’m not stupid enough to take a whole nest on solo. Last time would have been a little over four years ago, just before Mum died. But I took a lone vamp down a couple of months ago, so I reckon I’ve still got it.”

The shit-storm at the Elysium Fields had been about two weeks before the apocalypse, if Dean was remembering right (and given that Cas had been missing for one of those weeks, he remembered pretty fucking vividly), so Ellie hadn’t had her archangel hitchhiker, rocking all his mojo at that point. That could only mean she had been hunting on her own, by her own wits and training and any of her own super powers.

“Couple hours good for you, then?” he suggested. That would give him enough time to put Missouri’s engine back in functional order, if not perfect for the time being, and give them time to track down the address in time for noon. Midday was always the best time to take on vamps, since early morning or evening gave them plenty of long shadows to flee into. Having the sun directly overhead kept the sneaky little bloodsuckers neatly contained.

Ellie frowned at the parts of toaster in front of her, including the one in her hand that she was inspecting particularly closely. “Should be plenty of time: it was just a couple of crispy wires shorting against each other, Missouri – it’ll work as good as new once I get it back together.”

Dean watched in amazement as she poked at a wire until it slid free from the circuit board easily. She snipped a replacement from the reel Dean kept in his toolkit and deftly stripped the casing from the ends. He was really baffled when she snipped a short length of the solder that was inexplicably still in there even though the iron had crapped out on Dad almost ten years ago, and he leaned over to try and work out what she was doing. She popped the new wire into the vacant hole and poked at it again. He was amazed to see that she was prodding a bead of liquid solder around with her bare fingertip, positioning it just right to hold the new wire, before taking her hand away and letting it solidify.

She blushed when she realised Dean was staring, and gave a self-conscious shrug. “I feel I should be making a joke about being ‘hot stuff’.”

“Can’t imagine it’s useful anywhere else,” Dean said, not really knowing what else to say to that.

“I don’t really feel the cold when I can generate my own little furnace,” she said with a shy little grin, still apparently conscious of her casual exhibition of power. Or just the attention, Dean didn’t really know. “And it’s not just heat; fire too.”

“Okay, that I see a use for,” Dean said with a grin. “Ghosts must be a walk in the park for you.”

That seemed to sort out the embarrassment; now Ellie was grinning openly at him. “Oh yeah, working that one out made salting and burning a much easier job. And vamps aren’t all that fond either, turns out.”

“That seems sensible,” Missouri commented. Her attention was on them, but she had moved from the table to put a new pot of coffee on and that was occupying her hands. “You’re bright and hot, and vampires are cold, dark souls. You too, Dean: your aura is bright as the day out there.”

Dean couldn’t help but wonder what his aura had looked like when he had been a vampire for those awful few hours. He had still felt more or less himself, but he had never undergone that final part of the change, never given in to the temptation to feed.

“Oh, don’t you go giving yourself dark spots you don’t need,” Missouri scolded. “You focus on what’s here and now: you’ve got useful things to do, your brother will be just fine, and your sweetheart will be back before you know it.”

This side-tracked Dean from wondering about his aura and got him worrying about exactly what Missouri and Ellie had talked about the previous night, when he had turned in early and prayed good and long to Cas, telling him exactly where they were, that they were safe and simply letting him know that Dean was thinking of him. It had been nice, just being able to pray to Cas without worrying if they were being overheard, or traced by Cas’ asshole superiors, or if Cas could in fact hear them in the first place. Because he had done a lot of that between Cas disappearing into the lake and him reappearing as Emmanuel; desperate, aimless prayers just begging Cas to be okay.

And now that would never happen. It might haunt Dean’s nightmares until the day he kicked it, but he would never have to watch Cas transform into that god-awful creature in front of his eyes, start bleeding black and wade out into the reservoir near Sioux Falls. Because Cas wasn’t going to make the deal with Crowley. He didn’t need to now that he had enough mojo to take on Raphael by himself, and he had Gabriel as backup. Purgatory would remain safely closed, the Leviathans still held prisoner inside.

Dean might well take a couple of weeks off once Sammy was back safe. A beach somewhere, maybe? He deserved a vacation after the last few years.

 

.oOo.

 

Just to truly rub salt into a wound Dean even hadn’t realised was there, the vamps had set up their nest in the abandoned Campbell house. He could barely even bring himself to walk up those same steps as he had done four or two or thirty-seven years ago, because memories of his mom were coming back to haunt him, of the sorrow and desperation on his mother’s beautiful face, the shock on his grandmother’s, of Azazel using his grandfather (who probably deserved it, even then) to decide Sammy’s destiny ten years before he was even born.

“Dean?” Ellie said quietly, his consternation clearly obvious.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, giving himself a little shake to bring himself back to the here and now. As if it were just that easy to shake off the past.

“Okay.” Ellie nodded without hesitation, but her eyes were too shrewd as she slid around the side of the house. She was letting him take his escape route from memory lane without comment, without prodding like Sam would do. He hoped she wasn’t just saving the prodding for later on, when they weren’t on a job, because he wasn’t sure he could handle anything like that right now. He was keeping enough secrets as it was, with him not having been quite as upfront with Cas and Gabriel as he might have been as to the exact chain of events that had led to Cas being catatonic in the locked ward at the Northern Indiana State. He might have, in fact, neglected to mention the small issue with being the vessel for all the twisted Purgatory souls, or the Leviathan, or cracking Purgatory in general, or how Sam had gotten out of the Cage and the issue of his Wall. Gabriel had given him a look like she knew there was more to it than he was saying, but Cas seemed to have taken Dean’s word at face value. It was such a difference, how much this Cas was willing to trust him, in stark contrast to how Cas had been in that year between Dean starting hunting again and the cracking of Purgatory.

Dean was still keeping all that a secret, and intended to carry on keeping it. He didn’t want to burden anyone else with the knowledge. Especially not Cas, because the poor guy didn’t need that on top of everything else right now.

And that was something else he could do with not thinking about right now, since he had a job to do, and he was doing it with a partner he had never worked with before, someone he had no idea about the experience level of, no matter what she said: she didn’t look old enough to have taken down a nest two years ago, as she had said back at Missouri’s breakfast table. But he had to trust that she would have his back at least half as well as Sam would.

Dean’s phone vibrated in his hand, the screen lighting up with Ellie’s massively long, British cell number. She was in position at the back door, and that was their pre-arranged signal so that they could burst through both doors simultaneously and work their way towards each other, taking out any vamps along the way.

And boy did they; Missouri’s estimate of five had been a little… off. It looked like the vamps had been having a house party. There were three in the living room alone, snoozing safely on sofas behind the thickly-draped windows, and from the scuffling sounds he could hear, Ellie was facing at least one other in the kitchen: he had no chance of any help from her anytime soon. Dammit, he should have staked out the place properly rather than relying on anyone else’s intel – even Missouri’s. Then again, given there were no stories about murders or missing persons in the morning paper, maybe the party was planned for tonight, and he and Ellie had got here just in time.

Dean took out the first one easily – a behemoth that looked as stupid as it was big – as it was still staggering up from the couch closest to the door. The second was a touch more on the ball and took a couple of punches before the third got in on the action and grabbed Dean from behind. Miss Nineteen-Eighties, with the black leather jacket and enormous back-combed blonde hair spat blood on the floor and grinned at him as the other guy grabbed his wrist and squeezed until he dropped his favourite machete.

“This one’s real cute,” she said gleefully. “Shall we keep him?”

Oh, this was not going to end well, was it? Dean really didn’t want to have to go through that horrendous cure again and feel like he was puking his entire digestive system up for hours upon hours.

“No offence, Bonnie,” he drawled, hoping to at least distract them for long enough that Ellie might be able to help him, “but, been there, didn’t take. Guess I’m just too pretty to hide from the sun.”

Next thing he knew, the arm around his throat was slackening and there was an ominous gurgle from the vamp holding him. Then Ellie was there, his spare machete in one hand, and an angel blade in the other. Both looked like they had seen some action.

“Dean, were you really flirting with Bridezilla here?” she asked, wielding both blades casually enough but giving him enough blatant cover to grab his own blade from the floor.

“Hey, she was about to turn me! You want…?” he gestured with his blade.

“All yours,” she said graciously.

He swung, his aim true, and took the baffled vamp’s head off while she was still staring at her friend. It was only as he turned that Dean worked out why: the guy still had his head.

“Funny things, angel blades,” she said casually. “They kill pretty much anything.”

Dean looked sideways at her, keeping his main focus on the stairs. “Not everything,” he said, remembering Eve and the Leviathans: the blades hadn’t made so much as a dent in them, and their shape didn’t really lend them to casual beheadings.

“Take your word for it,” she said, easily enough, her attention also elsewhere; specifically, on the clatter of feet that Dean heard pounding their way up the cellar stairs maybe a second later. And then, just perfectly, the vamps upstairs seemed to get their act together too and stormed down. There were three from the upstairs, and Dean took the head of the first before she had even had a chance to reach the bottom, but Ellie was standing in front of what seemed to be a tide of the freaks, pouring in from the kitchen. They were freaking surrounded, cut off from both doors by bloodsuckers. Fortunately, the other two from the stairs didn’t seem like the sharpest tools in the shed, and quickly got themselves dazzled by stepping into the bright patch of sunlight falling through the open front door. God, he loved the thick ones: he took their heads easily enough and turned to see what the skinny was with Ellie.

She was more stabby than slashy, the angel blade skewering into a vamp even as he turned. She was swinging with the machete, but it wasn’t nearly as effective, especially from her height. But the kid moved like a pro. In fact, she moved like Cas in a knife fight. He guessed that kind of made sense in a way, but he really wished that she had Cas’ smiting ability, because that would be really kick-ass right about now. He waded in beside her, swinging with all his strength at the vamp who was trying to sneak past without losing any vital body parts. Dean took him out, but two of the suckers jumped Ellie at once, tackling her to the ground. Two more – the last two – rushed Dean. He managed to get a good slice at one, taking a significant chunk of arm, but still, this was going to be it. At least they had taken a good number of them down: Dean had taken five vamps himself, and Ellie at least four. Nine between them: having Sam instead couldn’t have improved on that any. He glanced over at his partner, sorry this was going to be over already before they really had a chance to find their feet together, only to see a bright flare of light flash from her skin. He flinched, slamming his eyes shut instinctively: he had worked enough jobs with Cas to know how that kind of thing went. There were screams and the hands holding him disappeared. Dean rolled over and up onto his feet without even opening his eyes. When he did, he found there were three vamps still alive: the two that had been holding him were dazed, their eyes bleeding but not burned away; the third was being straddled by Ellie, her angel blade coming down into his heart.

Dean took out the closest vamp to him, knocking him to the floor and shoving his machete through its throat. When he looked up, the last one was keeling over, the angel blade sticking out of her chest. Ellie, still astride a dead vamp, looked about ready to drop herself, but she had obviously still had enough in her to throw the blade. There was still a dull glow coming from her eyes, kind of like Cas did on occasion and Dean thought he saw something in the shadows behind her, just for a split second. But any thought of that went from his mind as everything seemed to give way and she slumped bonelessly forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you guys so much for all your kudos! I've _never_ had a fic do so well before, and it means a lot to me that you have taken the time to hit the button.
> 
> Thank you. Hugs and delicious chocolate brownies for everyone.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean started hauling bodies into the kitchen, ready to throw them onto a pyre, as he waited for Ellie to come around. As he ditched one and realised it was the twelfth, he stared for a moment, wondering how the hell they had pulled that one off; how he and the munchkin had managed to off that many vamps in a single sitting. Admittedly, ambushing them at noon on a brightly sunny day might have had something to do with it, but even so, it shouldn’t have been possible. Not without any angelic assistance, anyway.

Not that he would complain about it if Cas and/or Gabriel had been looking out for them, but it would have been nice for them to at least say hello. Especially if it had been Cas: look what had happened last time he had been sneaking about all invisible.

And hell if Dean was ever going for the decapitation route again if angel blades would do the job: they were much easier and less messy. He found himself wondering just what else they worked on, because that would cut their arsenal in half if it turned out that angel blades could kill as much as Ellie seemed to think they could. But just where had she got the blade from? Had Gabriel left it with her? Seemed unlikely.

He didn’t get any more time to mull things over, because Ellie let out a pained little groan from the sofa and her eyes flickered slowly open, like lifting her eyelids was much too much effort to do it all at once.

“Ellie? You okay?”

She peered in his direction, her eyes not really looking like they were focussing at all for a worrying half-minute: a half-minute in which Dean wondered whether he should get Gabriel back here in case she had done something drastic to herself, if she had somehow injured herself.

“Dean?”

Oh good, at least she remembered his name. That was a promising start.

“Hey, kid. How’re you feeling?”

She made some noise of distress that Dean might have struggled to interpret had he not raised a little brother from infancy. This was a ‘why are you even asking me that?’ kind of a noise, possibly coupled with some flavour of ‘I need water/food/to hurl’.

“Guessing you’re not really built to do the light show?” he asked cheerfully as he passed her a glass of water he had prepared earlier. At first, he had been surprised to find that the water supply was okay, but he supposed that even vamps needed to bathe and brush their fangs sometimes.

Ellie took a wary sip of the water, grimaced at the temperature (sue him, it was nearly a hundred degrees outside, and there wasn’t a working refrigerator for him to have had any way of chilling it), then quickly downed it and sighed.

“Nope,” she admitted. “’s’really no’a great in…stinct, ‘sit?”

Dean snorted. “Saved our hides, so I’m gonna go with ‘yeah, it is’, whatever you feel like now.”

She let out a weak chuckle. “…s’ppose. You go’ anythin’ sweet?”

Dean laughed. “Okay, now I really know you’re related to Gabriel.”

She glared balefully at him, but there was still something off about her eyes. Something that started alarm bells ringing. He’d seen this in Sam before, when he was purging from the demon blood, and even before then when Sam had been little and the money had run out and Dean hadn’t been able to buy them food for a few days; when Sam’s blood sugar would dip and he would get all kinds of cranky and headachey. The first time he had seen it in adult Sam, Dean had put the unfocussed glaring and the slurring to withdrawal but Bobby had pointed out that they were later signs of hypoglycaemia and forced glucose tablets down Sammy’s neck. And ever since then, Dean had kept a stash of them in the glove box of the Impala.

“Yeah, kid, in the car. I’ll be back in a minute.” He raced out, leaping nimbly over the bodies of the two vampires by the front door and leaned in through the open passenger window to grab the pastilles. He cursed how much crap Sam had managed to shove on top of them, probably because they reminded him too much of his detoxes. It seemed to take hours to dig out the tub and get back inside, but it had realistically probably only been a minute at most.

“My brother normally takes four,” he said as he shook some out into his hand, “but he’s a sasquatch and you’re a munchkin: three’s probably fine to start with. Chew.”

He handed her the tablets and went to refill the glass with water. Sam always complained that the tablets were really powdery and coated his mouth and tongue, and if he breathed in through his mouth he would get a lungful of the stuff.

Fortunately, Ellie hadn’t been stupid enough to do that, but she did take massive gulps of water between tablets.

“I’m guessing you’re really _not_ made for the light show?” he joked as she was draining a third glass of water, a tiny bit of colour coming back to her cheeks as the sugar started to hit.

“It’s actually easier than it used to be,” she said, slowly but clearly. “You should have seen me the first time it happened. It took me a whole day to wake up, and another one before I could even stand. This was definitely the best one by far, but I’m sorry you had to see it on our first outing. That’s only the fourth time it’s happened.”

She stretched carefully and stood. Her balance seemed good, her eyes sharp as she looked around the place. “Oh, you’ve… Wow, thanks.”

“I’ve stacked them by the back door for now,” Dean said, realising that she was referring to the lack of dead bodies in the room. “We can burn them whenever; there’s enough land at the back, and there’s no neighbours overlooking.

“Can do,” Ellie said readily, bending to grab the body of the smaller vampire Dean had beheaded in the front doorway. “Can we get some firewood, though: I _can_ burn the lot, but it’s easier if the fire has something to take in.”

Dean hadn’t even thought about that: they had only been joking about it a few hours beforehand too, that part of Ellie’s mojo gave her the ability to burn things, and it had already slipped his mind. That and she had been unconscious on the couch for twenty minutes, in absolutely no condition to be setting anything alight. Getting firewood had been his next task.

Ellie helped him, her movements getting more and more sure as the sugar rush started to hit. She was easier to work with than he had thought: she pulled her weight, not shying away from the lifting and carrying, not fussing about the fact she was covered in dirt and dust and blood. They just talked, trading tales of vampires and witches and werewolves, of ghosts and wendigoes and redcaps. It was nice and easy, and the sheer catalogue of information in Ellie’s head about monsters was amazing, he could tell, even if she had never learned to hunt them properly, with silver and bronze and wooden stakes and the like. She knew what worked conventionally, but she had used her great-grandfather’s angel blade since she was nine years old, when they had realised that she had some mojo, unlike her mom or grandpa.

Mojo or not, though, she was clearly still mortal, and by the time they burned the fourteen bodies and got back to Missouri’s, she was practically asleep on her feet. It took a lot of effort just to get her into the shower rather than just crashing out, then to eat a couple of brownies before she fell asleep. Only once he was sure she wasn’t about to go dangerously hypoglycaemic in her sleep did Dean leave her to shower himself and stick their clothes in the washer. Missouri said nothing about the state of them, which was a blessing because Dean was kind of pissed with her right now. Even though he should have checked for himself that Missouri’s intel had been accurate _before_ storming the place.

“Make sure she eats something sweet when she wakes up,” he all-but growled at Missouri as he grabbed his car keys. “I’ll be back soon.”

.oOo.

It had been a long time since Dean had shopped for a girl. And he definitely wouldn’t have bought Lisa clothes – none that anyone else was going to see, anyway. But needs must: Ellie only had the clothes that Gabriel had left her wearing the previous day: she was currently sleeping in a t-shirt borrowed from Dean. He had made a note of all her sizes, and googled the translation from British to American on the way over, so he went into Target armed and ready to grab. He only picked up essentials: a couple of tees, some jeans, lightweight pyjamas and some underwear. Nothing fancy, and she could buy new stuff herself if she wanted to, but right now she needed something to wear that wasn’t completely ruined by vampire blood. And she would need toiletries; a toothbrush and deodorant at the very least; probably other shit that girls needed too, but that was stuff that was definitely a lot too personal for him to be buying. He’d got a row from Lisa for buying the wrong shampoo once and learned his lesson; Ellie could pick those things for herself when she was up to it. But for now, at least she could get changed and go shopping, grab the essentials to tide her over until Gabriel either took her home or at least hopped there so she could grab some of her own stuff. He also picked her up a cell phone: not top of the range like the British one she had, but it at least had a working SIM card and a US number so she could call him and Missouri without it costing her a fortune.

Turned out to be worth it; he got a smile from Missouri that told him she was impressed, and he got a hug from Ellie and a whispered ‘thank you’ into his shoulder. Yeah, he was still an awesome big brother, even if it was to a sister rather than a brother.


	6. Chapter 6

They had settled into a kind of routine, sort of like Dean and Sam used to at Bobby’s. Dean was sorting out the car, having persuaded Missouri that it was about to die on her, and Missouri would find things for Ellie to do, to keep her occupied too. Sorting out the garden was the main one, since Missouri was struggling with the onset of arthritis and hadn’t managed to keep up with her herb garden. And a couple of days after the vampire nest, Missouri had pointed them in the direction of a haunting on the other side of town. Given she had already done the legwork for them, that took them all of half a day to verify that Missouri was right this time – they weren’t getting caught out again, and she forgave them for not trusting her given what had happened last time – and dig up the poor sucker. Ellie burned him in a matter of seconds, thankfully with a lot less drama than the vamps.

It was a quiet day and Dean was scrubbing motor oil out from under his fingernails when he heard it; the most glorious sound in the universe. He hadn’t been absolutely sure he would ever hear it again, and here he was, caught with his pants not only down but actually _off_ , buck naked and soaking wet. He scrambled to turn the shower off, fumbled grabbing his towel, cursing as he dropped it.

Dammit all to hell, what was wrong with him? Why was he turning into a teenage girl all of a sudden? He was a grown-ass man, goddammit, and he was going to act like one.

He dried himself off at a more leisurely rate, thankful that Cas had chosen now to arrive rather than ten minutes earlier, when he had still been streaked in oil from Missouri’s car. Said car was now significantly less of a death trap than it had been a week ago, when Dean and Ellie had taken up residence at her house, and Dean was proud of that fact, but he still didn’t want Cas confronted with him that dirty. Never mind that Cas had seen him hunt, had in fact _been_ hunting with him and had seen him streaked in blood and guts and who knew what else; never mind that Cas had seen him in Hell, Cas was a clean and pure thing, and he shouldn’t have to put up with a dirty Dean.

He slipped on the clean clothes he had laid out earlier and dropped the towel in the laundry basket. He was still a bit damp in places, but it was good enough. He strolled (not any faster than a stroll, no, definitely not) through to the kitchen, to where Ellie and Missouri were trying to feed Cas coffee. Or rather, Missouri was being polite by offering, and Ellie was cajoling. Or maybe it was Gabriel, given that Cas was here?

“Not sure it’s a good idea, feeding stimulants to archangels,” he commented from the doorway, congratulating himself on sounding calm and collected.

The looks he got were well worth it: Ellie’s pure mischief (definitely Ellie), Missouri’s wide-eyed horror as she realised just exactly how high up the food chain her houseguest was, Cas’ tolerant, amused smile. Jeez, how he had missed that smile.

“Ellie, honey? Come give me a hand getting groceries,” Missouri said in that rich, gentle voice of hers, the voice that still made it sound like suggestion, especially when it wasn’t. She was never really stern, but sometimes she got this look along with that voice. This time, though, her eyes were gentle and Dean knew he was busted: Missouri might not have known how important Cas was in the grand scheme of things, but she knew exactly how important he was to Dean.

“Of course,” Ellie replied easily, the amusement in her tone suggesting that she wasn’t fooled in any way by this sudden need to shop. Which she probably wasn’t, given she had seen them kiss, back at Stull. “Nice to see you again, Cas.”

Cas nodded politely to her. “It was interesting to meet you, Ellie,” he said. “You are certainly nothing like I was taught to believe you would be.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that,” she replied, sounding genuinely relieved. Maybe because Dean had done some poking online about ‘nephilim’ and discovered what exactly they were supposed to be, and what had happened to them.

“Missouri, it was a pleasure to meet you too,” Cas said, turning to their host. “Thank you for taking such good care of Dean.”

“It’s my pleasure, Castiel,” Missouri replied. “You boys behave now.”

And swiftly and suddenly Dean and Cas were alone, just the two of them, just like they had been countless times before and yet it was completely different. Everything had changed with one little kiss, and Dean had been anticipating this moment for a week; had been looking forward to seeing Cas again, and he still had absolutely no idea what to do or even what to say.

Fortunately for him, Cas wasn’t such an idiot: he did exactly the right thing and pulled Dean into a kiss. It was sweet and a bit clumsy, but it was doing all the right things; making Dean’s heart race and his skin tingle from being pressed against Cas, feeling the warmth of his skin. Everything seemed right with the world.

“So, you doing okay, Cas?” he asked eventually, slightly breathlessly, still held by those strong arms.

Cas’ smile, the one that seemed to be saved just for him, was a glorious thing that touched his eyes and did warm, funny things to Dean’s insides.

“I am well, Dean. I trust that you are still okay? I have not heard from you today yet.”

No, because Dean tended to pray at night, telling Cas all about his day.

“I can start saying ‘good morning’ too, if you want,” Dean suggested. “If it’s not too distracting or anything?”

Cas’ smile got brighter. “It is extremely distracting, but I enjoy hearing your prayers. I have found myself anticipating your evening-time over the last few days.”

“Then I’ll definitely make sure I carry on praying,” Dean said with a smile of his own. He had felt a bit stupid at first – it felt a bit like he was keeping a diary – but if Cas liked it, then he would sure as shit keep on doing it.

“But not too much, yeah? Because I want you on your game up there, being all important. Gabrielle better not be showing you how to trap us in time loops, or alternate realities or some such shit.”

“She is not,” Cas assured him, his smile fading and Cas’ characteristic frown returned. “We have little time for such frivolous things.” He sighed and stroked his thumb almost absently over Dean’s cheek as he continued:

“I cannot stay for too long. The current situation in Heaven is… not good.”

Dean really, really hoped Cas wasn’t about to say what he thought Cas was about to say. “Raph’s not taking the news too well?”

Cas sighed. “No. He is… reluctant to believe that Father has made his wishes clear with regards to the apocalypse, and he refuses to bow to either Gabriel or me.”

Yeah, that was what Dean was worried about. Because Cas had gone back beefed up before, with God obviously having been involved, and things hadn’t gone well. This entire thing had been built on a foundation of Cas now being strong enough to stand up to Raphael (and therefore Raphael potentially not beating the crap out of him in the first place) and Gabriel being backup. Cas had gone up to Heaven believing that things would be simple, with God’s touch so evident in Cas’ newfound power and Gabriel’s good health. Dean was pretty sure that Gabriel hadn’t been so positive about the outcome, because she was more of a realist.

“So, Gabi’s still up there?” he prompted, trying to get a feel for things.

“She told me I should spend some time with you while I could,” Cas told him. “Raphael appears to be considering his options, but I do not think he will change his mind any time soon, and a vast number of the host are still loyal to him as the eldest archangel; he may be outnumbered, but his opinion is more respected by the majority our brothers.”

That had been the other concern, something that Dean and Ellie had discussed late one evening: that Heaven worked on the same principle as a monarchy – leadership passed from eldest son to eldest son, at least in theory. Cas had probably been shoved up the hierarchy quite a bit because of his promotion, but after God had jumped ship, Michael became the rightful leader, with Raphael after him, then Gabriel. Then, Ellie had said, blushing furiously, technically came her, except that none of the angels knew about her and no angel in their right mind would agree to that anyway, and then and only then came Cas.

“Dean?”

Cas seemed to deflate in his arms, all the cheer at seeing Dean leave him. Dean knew what was coming: he had fed them what he knew about the civil war, which admittedly wasn’t much.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Is this how it started last time?”

Dean tugged Cas over to the table and sat down, keeping a hold of Cas’ hand throughout.

“Near as I can figure,” Dean said slowly, “yeah. You didn’t tell me much, probably because you thought you were protecting me. But kinda, except that Raph didn’t do much considering and more handing you your ass. You only made that stupid deal with Crowley to survive, so you could stop the apocalypse all over again.”

Dean sighed, glancing away from those guileless blue eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“I honestly thought it would be different this time. I got your Dad to hook you up with more mojo; He got Gabi back in the game so this wouldn’t happen. I’m sorry, Cas.”

The expression on Cas’ face was so heart-breaking that Dean wanted to look away.

“Dean, please do not be sorry: this opportunity is a miracle, and although I would wish to avoid it entirely, if this civil war is to happen, at least we are forearmed against the consequences of this deal I made with Crowley. And I doubt that Raphael will be able to ‘hand me my ass’ quite as easily as he once could have.” He gave a small huff of laughter. “As you may recall, archangels are able to vaporise angels of lower ranks should they feel it necessary. That is no longer a possibility.”

“Well, thank God for that. Literally. But this ain’t going to turn into an apocalypse all of its own, is it? Because we know how pissing contests between archangels turn out.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “Dean, you have never seen the aftermath of a fight between archangels, and I pray that you, nor anyone else, ever does.” He sighed. “Particularly since it has been difficult to find time for Gabriel to train me in the use of my new powers.”

“What? Dude, you’ve been gone for a week! Why the hell are you wasting time with me if you need to get ready for the fight?”

“Dean, I… I wished to see you.”

Dean scrubbed at his face with the palm of his hand. He understood that desire, he really did. It had been really hard, praying to Cas for a week without hearing anything back. But there were reasons he never pressured Cas into coming home too early:

“I want to see you too, Cas, but not like this. You need to be ready, ‘cause right now, what would happen if Raph decided now was the moment to attack?”

Cas considered that for a moment. “I would have to hold back, and he would defeat me easily. Otherwise I would likely destroy the planet in unleashing a power I have no control over.”

“And that’s why you are going to march your ass right back upstairs and get to work, mister,” Dean said. He might have pulled off stern, maybe, but something inside him was yelling to be heard, begging not to let Cas go again so soon. “Come when you can, even if it’s only dream-walking. Just, I want you safe more than I want you here.”

“Dean, I… Heaven will not be safe for some time.”

Dean shrugged. “Safer than getting ambushed here, without Gabi to look out for you. I’d rather sacrifice some time now rather than you get killed.”

Dean cringed inwardly as he processed what he had said. The teenage girl in him seemed to be rearing her head again.

Fortunately, to save him some shame, his phone chose that moment to ring. Cas slid it smoothly from his pocket.

“It is a local number,” he said as he handed it to Dean.

“How do you… never mind. Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sam? Sammy! Where are you?”

“Payphone near the cemetery,” said the glorious voice. “Think I might have walked west.”

Away from Lawrence, but that so wasn’t the point right now.

“Okay, we’ll find you. Hang ti…ght.”

They were there before Dean had even finished speaking; Sam slouched in the booth, grasping the receiver like it was a lifeline, his long body a line of weariness. But his head turned at the sound of them arriving, his face lighting up under the layer of red dust.

Yes, everything was good with the world: Team Free Will was back together.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was in the shower when Missouri and Ellie returned empty-handed from the store. They were both smiling expectantly as they came through the door.

“You couldn’t call and tell me?” Missouri scolded him good-naturedly. “And I’ll bet you haven’t made up the room for your brother yet.”

That was true: Dean hadn’t even thought about making up Missouri’s third and final spare room for Sam. Part of the reasoning there was that he had kind of assumed they would go right back to Bobby’s once Sam was back.

Missouri looked unimpressed. “If you think that brother of yours is going to use up all my hot water and not even say ‘hello’ before you disappear off to South Dakota, you have got another thing coming, Dean Winchester.”

Ellie was no help: she was slouched against the counter, grinning at him.

“Don’t mess with the psychic,” was all she had to offer.

“It would seem rude, after Missouri has been such a superb hostess to you,” Cas said, the traitor.

And that was how poor Sam, innocently bumbling through after washing half of Kansas off him, got ambushed in the kitchen by an archangel and two insane women.

 

.oOo.

 

As it turned out, Missouri and Ellie really did need to go to the store, because they hadn’t factored feeding a giant into their grocery shopping earlier in the week. Cas, in a rare moment of subtlety, decided that something in Heaven needed his attention and popped off, but not before clasping a hand to Sam’s shoulder and then turning and kissing Dean. Which was a touch less subtle than Dean could have done with right at that moment, because he really wanted to know whether or not Sam was about to start hallucinating Lucifer, or if he was missing his soul or some other such shit. God had to have done a better job of bringing Sam back than Cas and Death, right?

Of course, after that display, Sam had other ideas about how the conversation should go:

“You and Cas, huh?” Sam had a shrewd look and a lightly teasing tone in his voice.

“Shut up.”

“I owe Bobby fifty bucks. I didn’t think you’d work it out for another couple years.”

Dean snickered into his coffee. “You and Bobby can work that out between you then.”

Sam blinked, unsurprisingly confused. “Huh?”

Dean shrugged. “Cas is from now. I’m not. Shit happened; God kicked me back two and a half years to stop it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you end the world again?”

Dean kicked him under the table, because no, he wasn’t taking the blame for it, and Sam was just being a shit by suggesting it, and damn, it was good to see that Sammy had his soul (because RoboSam had never smiled like that, all warm and dimples and mixed with exasperation).

There was a moment of comfortable silence then:

“So, you met God?”

“Yep.”

“What was He like?”

Dean shrugged. “Not as much of a dick as I expected,” he admitted. “Still a dick, though. Wouldn’t let me come back before the end of the apocalypse, insisted you spent a little bit of time in Hell; something about teaching Mikey and Luci a lesson.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably as the topic they had both been avoiding inevitably came up. “Sorry I bugged you about not talking about Hell,” he mumbled.

Dean eyeballed him warily. “You okay? Not about to go gaga on me? Not seeing Lucifer or anything like that?”

Sam shook his head and kept his eyes on his mug. “No. It kind of feels like it was a dream. I can remember it, but not like it was a real thing.”

Dean sighed with relief, because that didn’t sound like Death’s wall at all. “God said he’d fix it so you didn’t come out crazy and broken. Didn’t actually believe Him until now.”

That did get Sam looking up. Dean capitalised on the opportunity to look him in the eye.

“You need to tell me right away if it stops feeling like a dream, or if you start hallucinating Lucifer.”

“Dean? How long did I spend in the Cage last time?”

It was Dean who broke the eye contact, because Sammy was always too smart for his own good. “Year and a half.”

“I didn’t come out of it too good, did I?”

Dean didn’t have to say anything. He rarely had to say anything to Sam, because the freak knew anyway, but had an irritating tendency to try and get Dean to tell him anyway because he was a giant girl.

“Nope.” He took a gulp of his coffee and hoped that Sam would drop it.

“So, you and your Cas, from your time – was that a thing too?”

Dean wanted to laugh, or downplay it or something, but Sam had that look that he normally only pulled out for the families of victims, or witnesses. Dean hated that look, but it was fucking useful, because it made people want to spill their guts. Unfortunately, because it was usually reserved for other people, Dean hadn’t developed a full immunity to it yet.

“No,” he admitted under duress. “I’d lost him.”

Sam nodded knowingly, probably piecing things together correctly inside that enormous brain of his. He didn’t say anything more, which was a blessing because it meant that maybe he could go back to repressing how Cas had been at the end and just think of Cas being vibrant and bursting with all-new superpowers; enough to gently intimidate Raphael into not being a dick but not enough to cause a breakdown and need Dean to go all Uncle Ben on him (or Gabriel, because Dean was pretty sure that she would know the line too).

“He’s better,” Sam observed, steering the conversation back into safer waters. “He, um, wasn’t looking so great last time I saw him.”

No, last time Sam had seen Cas, he had been a red splatter across Stull Cemetery. He was infinitely better now than then.

“God brought him back last time too,” Dean put in, just in case that hadn’t been clear before. “Got some kind of promotion but not enough to kick Raphael’s ass. This time round, he’s an archangel.”

Sam frowned, clearly trying to piece together a story from that. His expression was slightly pissy, as if he was wishing fervently that Dean was better at telling him stuff that might be important.

“Raphael’s the archangel that killed Cas the first time, right?”

Oh yeah, Sam hadn’t been there when Dean had first met old Raphie: that had just been the two of them. Only Dean had seen just how awesome Cas had been even when he was falling and his batteries were draining, how he had stood up to and even taunted an archangel even when he was terrified of being turned into jam (again).

“Yeah. Douchebag is still hell-bent on the apocalypse, didn’t take no for an answer last time. Cas stood up to him, ended up starting a civil war he couldn’t win, and did something really stupid to try and win it anyway.”

Now Sam looked as if he was starting to understand, but there was something stopping him. And, being Sam, he didn’t exactly hold back on what that was: “Are you telling me you got _God_ to turn Cas into an archangel?”

Dean grinned. “I’m just that awesome.”

“But it’s still not going so well for him, is it?”

Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like it. Raph’s a stubborn bastard, still wants the script we tore up back.”

Sammy, snarky little princess that he was, rolled his eyes. “Sounds about right for an angel. So I guess we’re waiting to see what Raphael decides?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the plan until then, Future Boy? What do we need to do?”

Dean shrugged and wished, not for the first time, that he wished he had a beer rather than coffee to drink while he was thinking.

“Hunt, I guess,” he answered finally. “Go see Bobby. The usual.”

“You don’t know?”

Dean glared at Sam, but there was no heat in it. “I got out last time, just like you wanted.”

“You did?” Sam sounded incredulous, and maybe slightly awed. Dean realised that Sam had never expected him to actually do it.

“Hooked up with Ben and Lisa,” he confirmed; “got a job, and a truck: whole nine yards. And I put them in danger. Almost got them both killed, too many times, because there’s no such thing as ‘out’; not for us.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped and Dean knew he was blaming himself for everything that had happened to them in Dean’s past. And while it was true that if Sam hadn’t asked it of him specifically Dean would never have thought to go to them in the first place, it definitely wasn’t his fault.

“I could have ignored you,” Dean offered. “Didn’t _have_ to go to them.”

Sam sighed. “No, I guess you could have ignored my _dying wish_. And if I’d realised you knew you swung Cas’ way, I might not have said ‘Lisa’ specifically.”

Dean definitely wanted something stronger than coffee for _this_ conversation: the one Sam had been flirting around for a while with his questions about Cas. Except…

“What? You knew? How long have you known?”

Clearly, long enough that he and Bobby had money on it, but still…

Sam laughed softly and looked at Dean almost pityingly. “Long enough. Longer than you. Even if you and Cas didn’t stare longingly into each other’s eyes all the freaking time, the way you drooled over Doctor Sexy was a dead giveaway.”

“I didn’t drool!”

There was another snort of laughter. “Yeah, you kind of did.”

“And me and Cas don’t _stare_.”

Sam gave him A Look. It was a patronising Look; one that Sam shouldn’t be good at given he was the kid brother here. Kid brothers don’t get to pull Looks like that.

“Dean, you were so obvious that me and Bobby weren’t the only people with money in the pool. Ellen and Jo got in too.”

“But…”

Ellen and Jo had met Cas a grand total of once. One time, in one of the shittiest twenty-four hours Dean had ever had the misfortune to live through. And that included the time he lost his Dad and Sam.

“My point exactly,” Sam said as if he could read Dean’s mind. Not that he really needed to – it was pretty obvious what Dean was thinking.

“Jo would have lost out too, by the way,” Sam added, conversationally. He took a mouthful of coffee before he continued: “She didn’t think you’d ever get past the fact he’s got a male vessel.”

Dean shrugged, mostly because he really didn’t want to be having this conversation any more; not with his little brother.

“It’s not about that.”

“I know,” Sam said gently. “Never was, with you two. How long ago were you done with this conversation?”

He had a gentle, wry smile, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back, though he had the feeling it was probably pained.

“Before you started.”

Sam nodded. “Bobby’s?”

“Tomorrow,” Dean decided. “Missouri’s an awesome cook, and she’s put up with us for a week already. Be rude not to stay at least tonight and get some rest before Bobby puts us to work.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds perfect.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby and Sam discover some new things.

Missouri wasn’t surprised in the slightest to hear that they were planning on leaving the next morning, and she set about making them some snacks for the five hour trip north. She enlisted Ellie’s help as sous chef and they both ended up bossing Sam and Dean around to fetch this ingredient or that, or stir a batter because Missouri’s arthritis made it hard these days (and Dean made a mental note to ask Cas if he could fix that when he got a minute).

Dean wondered if he was imagining the odd looks that Ellie kept giving Sam – kind of squinting sideways when he wasn’t looking. He wondered what she was seeing – was it the demon blood or something else? Was there something of Lucifer left behind after all? Dean had wondered if there had been something left over in Sam that had let Lucifer in to torment him; a thing that Cas had moved into himself; a thing that had destroyed Cas. Was it still there this time around, sitting like a cancer in his brother’s head? Had God overlooked something because Dean hadn’t known what to tell Him? Or was he being completely paranoid?

There was a conversation going on, and Dean belatedly realised that Sam was trying to coax Ellie’s hunter creds out of her. It was a conversation Dean had had with her during the clean-up after the vamp nest a week ago, but she wasn’t being quite as forthcoming with Sam as she had been with Dean, and Dean couldn’t think why. She was feeding him bits and pieces of her past – that she was from a hunting family, that she had grown up in the life, that she had taken out her first vamp at thirteen – but not once did she mention the connection to Gabriel, or her mojo, or explain how she had ended up in the US.

He chimed in, adding how they had taken out a whole vamp nest between them, tactfully omitting her use of grace (because he could do tact), and getting a grateful look in return. And together they told the quick story of the ghost hunt. This seemed to appease Sam, because they never worked with anyone except Bobby. They had adjusted to Cas’ presence because he was Cas, but having Ellie along full time would just be weird if Sam didn’t trust her. And if Sam didn’t trust her, Bobby sure as hell wouldn’t.

“Oh, crap.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him as he pulled his cell phone out. Sam and Ellie looked concerned, while Missouri merely looked unimpressed and gave him a rap across the knuckles for swearing even as he hit the speed-dial.

“Sam says he owes you money,” Dean greeted Bobby cheerfully. He grinned unrepentantly at the string of cursing coming from the other end of the line, then handed the phone over to Sam.

“Hey, Bobby,” the kid said, suddenly looking like a gawky teenager again. It never ceased to amaze Dean that Sam could still pull that even now he had filled out. “A couple of hours?... Yeah, I know. I’m sorry… Long enough that they’re nauseating instead of disgusting, but I don’t know if it counts because of the whole time travel thing… What do you mean… Dean?”

Sam held the phone out. “Think you might have forgot something.”

Oh, yeah. Dean hadn’t told Bobby, had he? He’d still been trying to work out what to say to Cas last time he had seen Bobby.

“Hey Bobby.”

“‘Time travel thing’?” Bobby parroted in that tone of voice that demanded an explanation, along with ‘what the hell have you gone and done now?’ and strongly implying that Dean was a dumb shit for even trying to hide something from him in the first place. Dean had really, really missed that tone of voice.

“Can I tell you tomorrow?”

There was a pause, and Dean was pretty sure it was to cover any measure of joy that might have crept into Bobby’s voice at hearing that they would be at his place, under his feet again so soon.

“Sure, I guess. Pick up some groceries on your way: I don’t earn enough to keep feeding you both.”

“Sure thing, Bobby.”

“You going to be debauching that angel under my roof? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a sin – I don’t want my house getting smote.”

Dean could feel himself blushing. “Bobby, no, it ain’t…”

“You holdin’ out on him, princess?” Bobby was as much of a jerk as Sam was.

“Jeez, Bobby. Cas probably ain’t even going to be there – he’s got stuff to do in Heaven. But… you got clean sheets for the spare room? You even got the spare room any more, or is it stuffed with junk?”

“Junk, my ass,” Bobby grumbled. “That’s all stuff you and your brother have ditched here. I ain’t got time to go through your crap, boy. Why?”

“We picked up a third wheel,” Dean said, giving Ellie what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “She’s kind of awesome on a hunt.”

Bobby snorted in what sounded like disbelief. Dean could understand that, because hunters weren’t, as a breed, particularly trusting. Especially of each other. Bobby was the best connected hunter of anyone, and that was pretty much because he would run phones or research for just about anyone so they would owe him one further down the line.

“We took out fourteen vamps together, Bobby: she’s good.” He could feel Sam’s eyes on him and belatedly realised they might have left that improbably impressive total out when telling the story earlier.

“She can help you clear your crap out then,” Bobby grumbled. “Give me a call when you’re near.”

“Don’t I always?”

“No.”

Yeah, that was probably true, and while Dean knew it was to make sure Bobby didn’t have any guests who might ask questions about them or be poking around in the wake of a hunt, he couldn’t resist:

“You got a lady friend you need to kick out?”

“So what if I have?” Bobby growled at him. “Ain’t any business of yours.”

No, but it could be: how less surly would Bobby be if Dean happened to nudge Jody Mills at him a bit earlier rather than later? Right now she was still grieving for her husband, but it could happen, right? And hopefully not over a bucket of spilled borax this time.

Dean still kind of remembered Bobby being married to Ellen, and how much happier he had been when the five of them had been a proper family. Jody was the same kind of strong woman Ellen had been: she would be good for him. Why couldn’t Bobby have a bit of happiness in his life? Jody had been awesome with the Leviathan; she had really come through for them. She was one of them, and exactly the kind of woman Bobby needed.

But not right this moment.

“Okay, Bobby. You kiss Tori Spelling goodbye, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was an indignant splutter at the other end of the line, and Dean grinned as he hung up the phone. He knew he should feel bad for using info Bobby wouldn’t ever remember giving Dean, and especially for using info obtained under a curse, but damn it felt good to tease and laugh again. This was just another blessing from God, literally. Dean could have it all for once: he had his brother back, his angel, and Bobby, and he had even managed to reconnect with Missouri and realise that they had always had someone else on their side, had they ever bothered to ask her. He had a family, and they were kind of awesome.

 

.oOo.

 

Cas visited him in a dream that night and they got to spend some of the quality time together they should have had in the waking world. Cas was awesome to hang out with when they didn’t have the pressure of saving the world over them: he actually managed to relax and unwind some. He moved and laughed more easily than he did in the real world, and Dean thought that might be because while he was seeing Cas’ familiar Jimmy-shape, that was only because it was how his brain interpreted Cas. What he had here was a projection of Cas’ mind – his true self – rather than a non-corporeal being trying to move an alien body.

There was no pressure in a dream, either; Dean could just be himself rather than having to look out for Sam, or Ellie, or for the next thing that wanted to kill him. They could just hang out. When they didn’t feel like talking (and neither of them was exactly a chatterbox) Dean could fish while Cas lay on the pier beside him and read the Vonnegut books that Dean had memorised years earlier. And when it was time for Cas to leave, they could kiss without being mocked by Sam.

Dreamwalking always made for an abrupt awakening, but for once Dean really didn’t mind that: he closed his eyes and fell asleep again almost instantly.

 

.oOo.

 

Gabriel was a pain in the ass, Dean remembered, and he was sure she only visited to make things awkward. Dean had stumbled into the kitchen after a particularly harrowing nightmare about Cas and the Leviathan to find her shovelling strawberry pancakes into Ellie’s mouth and confusing the hell out of poor Sam. Maybe they should have mentioned the whole ‘Gabriel’ thing last night after all?

The only good thing was that the torture didn’t last long: apparently Gabriel had absolutely no desire to spend four hours cooped up in a car with them. That declaration had been made with an eye-roll that merged seamlessly into something sincere as she lay a hand over Missouri’s as she went to collect the plates.

“Later,” she declared after a weird moment, and fluttered off.

Sam rounded on him. “Gabriel’s alive?”

“Uh… yeah. He… she is.”

“Don’t you boys be saying anything unkind about her,” Missouri said swiftly and firmly. “Gabriel might have her issues, and I know you boys have some kind of unfinished business, but I haven’t felt so good in years.”

And suddenly, Dean remembered that he had asked Cas about Missouri and her arthritis last night. Cas had promised he would see to it. If Gabriel gate-crashing their breakfast was the best way of helping Missouri sooner rather than later, suddenly Sam’s confusion wasn’t quite so annoying after all. Sam could live with his confusion a little longer: it wasn’t going to get them killed anytime soon. Probably.

Sam had that thoughtful expression. “I guess it explains how you met Ellie,” he said finally with a shrug.

“Yeah. Gabriel was a tool and left her here. Poor kid’s been stranded here since you took your swan dive.”

Sam frowned. “So, has he taken her back home, or…?”

Dean’s phone beeped to alert them about the arrival of a new text message. Bobby never texted, and Cas couldn’t; only Sam ever texted Dean these days, so Sam’s confusion was warranted. Dean pulled it out and glanced at the screen, which very considerately explained the mystery.

“Ellie,” he told Sam. “She’s out at the cemetery and can we swing by on our way out of town?”

Sam looked completely confused now.

“Safe place to mojo out and back to Heaven,” Dean informed him as his phone beeped again.

And can you grab my stuff please? *sigh*

And say thank you to Missouri for me?

“You boys better hustle,” Missouri said firmly. “You can’t keep that poor girl waiting out there for too long in this heat.”

Dean flashed her a grateful smile and darted off upstairs to make sure there was nothing still lurking in any of the guest rooms. He collected up Ellie’s meagre wash kit and tucked it into the cheerful knapsack Missouri had loaned her before heading back down to the kitchen to find Missouri and Sam packing a paper bag with food and drinks.

“Now, don’t you boys be losing my number this time,” she scolded. “And tell Ellie she can call me any time too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said, ducking his head in shame, because he was still torn between wanting to keep Missouri here as a cool aunt and making sure she was safe by never contacting her again, thus ensuring she didn’t end up on anyone’s radar and get killed because of it.

“Don’t lose my number,” Missouri repeated firmly, glaring at Dean. “Sam, you make sure that Dean remembers that.”

Sam nodded in that enthusiastic-puppy way he had. Devious woman, because Sam would like that they had a second home and someone that cared about them. That was a normal thing to have, and Sam liked normality. Maybe one of these days he would be lucky enough to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of '[Five Times...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4622394)' is set during this chapter.
> 
> Apologies - I might have to slow down on updates to this - in a moment of madness I signed up to this year's SGBB. I've never done a Big Bang before, and it's... it's not going so great so far. I want to actually succeed, so I will be dedicating time to that, I'm afraid.
> 
> Never fear, though - I am having a ball writing this verse, so I definitely won't forget it! I can't wait to carry on with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a road trip.

Ellie was surprisingly cheerful when they picked her up from Stull, and in the midst of her grumble about idiot archangels with no sense of what things are like for the wingless, she flourished a burgundy passport and informed them she was now there legally, as far as the immigration service was concerned, and she would be able to fly home on a plane if the mood took her.

“They might get a bit suspicious about your baggage,” Sam pointed out, gesturing to the relatively tiny knapsack on the seat beside her.

“One step at a time,” she said blithely. “That’s the plan for next time she’s here. Because I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’d be nice to wear my own clothes. Or my own boots at least.”

Dean could understand that, because he hated new boots too and often kept his long past their sell-by date because they were so comfortable, and wore them in the field while he tried to break in new ones in their downtime. It was one thing he never skimped on – footwear was important in their line of work, simply because they spent so long on their feet. Even his FBI shoes were lovely and soft these days, kept shiny only through a lot of TLC. So no, Dean didn’t think that Ellie was being ungrateful in any way. Gabriel was, but then Gabriel was still a dick, even taking the whole passport thing into consideration.

Ellie stashed the passport carefully in her bag and leaned over the back of the front seat. Normally, it was something Dean hated, but a glance over at Ellie showed that she was just staring out of the windshield, transfixed by the landscape.

“It’s very flat, isn’t it?” she said after a minute or so of watching Kansas whiz by. “And big. And straight.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean replied, confused. “It’s the mid-west.”

She gave an amused little snort. “It’s weird to me. The UK is just loads of ranges of hills and mountains connected together. I think Kansas is bigger than the entire country.”

That didn’t seem right: Great Britain had ruled half the world, America included, at one time. It couldn’t be that small, could it?

As it turned out, courtesy of Wikipedia and Sam’s omnipresent internet signal, Kansas was actually slightly smaller than the UK, by about ten thousand square miles, but even so, that was kind of mind-blowing. Even though he had been there himself, in another lifetime now, he hadn’t really grasped the scale of the place, or the lack thereof. It seemed unfeasible that so much had come from one miniscule little group of islands. It just didn’t add up in Dean’s head.

Sam’s phone kept the pair of them occupied for hours, because he kept finding out random pieces of information (mostly about monsters) and pumping Ellie for information about them. Dean tuned most of it out as completely unnecessary, but there were a few things that did catch his attention. The fact that Dracula had been real was one, and that Whitby was a major tourist trap for vampires seeking out a link to their most famous brother, to the extent that there was actually a couple of hunters stationed there permanently. Yes, the Pendle witches existed, and still poked their heads above ground occasionally. Boggarts and redcaps and all those other Harry Potter creatures that appeared in Prisoner of Azkaban? Sure, although not always as JK Rowling envisaged them. Treacle mines? Oh, definitely – treacle comes from somewhere, right? And boggarts feed on treacle just as much as fear. (Dean felt like he was missing a joke here, because Ellie definitely sounded like she was highly amused.) Wiki says they’re a myth? It says boggarts are too, doesn’t it? (Dean snorted at this, given that most of their lives revolved around things that Wikipedia said were myths.) Oh, haggis? They’re delicious, but it takes two of you to catch them you know – one to chase it and one to come around the mountain the other way and scoop it up – and the left-legged ones taste better than the right-legged ones. Oh, that’s which pair of legs is longer – they live in the mountains so they have one pair of legs longer than the other, you know. For stability, to help them run around the steep slopes of their habitat. And occasionally a left-legged haggis will mate with a right-legged haggis, and they produce a great haggis. No-one knows what they taste like, because they’re so damn hard to catch.

Sam called bullshit on that one too when he found a recipe for haggis and pulled a face. Ellie laughed and admitted it was a story the Scots told tourists and little kids.

They ended up on history after that, but it turned out that Ellie wasn’t much of a history buff, not beyond the supernatural. She knew what she had picked up in school, but hadn’t exactly gotten much of a chance to explore anything beyond that. Kind of like Sam and Dean – they knew their lore and a couple of dead languages, but nothing that normal people would consider to be ‘real’ history. Ellie ended up telling Sam to talk to Gabriel, try and persuade her to take him on a trip sometime, so he could explore his roots.

Sam then for some reason meandered back onto Harry Potter, and this time picked dragons. At that point, Ellie scoffed and said they were a myth. Dean jumped in at that point and said he had met two, but they shouldn’t worry too much about the flamey little douches – they were locked away. Sam seemed kind of disappointed that he had missed meeting such an iconic monster, the big nerd.

Dean had to admit, it was kind of nice to have some chatter in the car for a change; Dad had raised him and Sam to be quiet in the back, and they had always kind of continued on like that after Dad left them. Their silences were generally comfortable, but this friendly talk was comfortable too, and it passed the time: they were in Omaha, Nebraska, before they knew it, and a good time to stop for lunch (where Ellie disappointingly sat on the fence in the great food divide and ordered a burger and side salad).

 

.oOo.

 

They rocked up at Bobby’s late in the afternoon, with groceries. Bobby raised his eyebrows at the bags they carried into the house in kind of the same way he did when a monster did something he didn’t expect. If Dean was a cynic, he might think that Bobby genuinely didn’t expect them to pick up the food even though they had promised to and even though Dean was fairly crap at that kind of thing, Sammy was all conscientious about it.

He hugged Sam briefly and gave him a swift pat on the back. “You did good, boy.”

Sam, the giant girl, shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Good to see you too, Bobby. How’s the legs?”

“Still walking, ain’t I?”

He turned from Sam and gave Ellie a long, hard stare before turning to Dean.

“Fourteen vamps, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Were they sleeping?”

“Not for long.”

“So, what is she then?”

“Gabriel’s vessel,” Sam jumped in. “He… uh, she?”

“She,” Ellie confirmed. “Confusing as hell, isn’t it?”

“Ain’t Gabriel dead?” Bobby asked. “Didn’t you two idjits tell me he got iced by Lucifer a couple months back?”

“Trickster,” Ellie said with a wry smile. “She came out of it badly though – she hasn’t been able to do anything except sleep until last week. Hi, I’m Ellie Van Helsing. You must be Bobby. Sam and Dean have told me a lot about you on the trip down here. May I use your bathroom, please? These guys don’t seem to believe in urination.”

Bobby pointed her in the general direction of the bathroom and rounded back on Sam and Dean the second she was through the door.

“Hey, we kept the stories clean,” Dean said with a smile, holding his hands up.

Bobby eyeballed him. “And what’s your story? Why am I hearing about you time travelling from Sam?”

Ah. He had been wondering when they would get around to that. He shrugged, grabbed some beers from the fridge and flopped onto the sofa before starting out on the story once again, giving essentially the same version of the story he had given to the angels back in Lawrence. Ellie came back before he had even got to describing Sam’s Hell-wall, let alone what had happened to Sam when it got torn down. She took the beer he nudged over to her and sat, silently, on the floor between him and Sam.

Bobby looked completely incredulous when Dean got to God’s intervention.

“God?”

“Uh huh.”

“The big guy? Deadbeat, never-showed-his-face-for-the-damn-Apocalypse God?”

“Looks like Chuck,” Dean said. He knew it was incongruous, but it beat finding other ways of saying ‘yes’. Because he knew what Bobby was thinking: he had thought those exact things himself, as it was happening.

“He tossed me back here, said I would be able to change stuff. So here I am, changing stuff. Cas is upstairs with Gabi, sorting out the crap up there. Sam’s here and not still stuck downstairs in the Cage. It’s all good.”

Bobby looked deeply sceptical. “When is everything ever ‘all good’?”

“Right now,” Dean said. “Crap’s over. We just got our regular messed-up lives to go back to now.”

Bobby was too cynical to buy it. Dean knew that Bobby was doing the math with his story and finding the parts where things didn’t add up; the parts where he hadn’t wanted to say how Sam’s wall had broken, or how the Leviathans had escaped from Purgatory. He also knew that Bobby and Sam were both intelligent enough to calculate the missing values eventually, but that was a while off. Bobby was going to question the math on two hunters plus fourteen vamps sometime soon too, because that just wasn’t right in anyone’s books. That should equal dead hunters, not dead vamps. They were going to have to find out about Ellie’s mojo, and he wasn’t sure why Ellie was being so cagey about it with Sam when she was so open with him. It was weird.

“Your messed-up life where you’re dating an angel?” Bobby said instead of anything else.

“I guess you could call it dating,” Dean allowed. He took a sip of his beer, thinking that one over. Maybe he should actually take Cas out sometime, have a proper date? Would Cas appreciate that?

“Or are you just friends with benefits?”

Sam sniggered, the traitor.

“Dammit, no. Me and Cas, we’re… I don’t even know what we are, but it ain’t that.”

“Aww, sweet.” Bobby cooed sarcastically. Dean knew Bobby was pleased under that layer of sarcasm. Hunters just didn’t get normal lives – Bobby and Karen had proved that disastrously during the Apocalypse – but Cas would never be looking for normal anyway. Hell, he probably didn’t even know what ‘normal’ was.

“All I know is that you guys need to work out between you who wins the fifty. I’m gonna sort my laundry while you argue about that.”

Ellie set her beer down. “Can you show me?”

“Machine’s back downstairs,” Bobby put in. “Got sick of falling over the damn thing.”

Dean laughed, because that was awesome to hear. That was great news. The machine had only been moved from the basement because Bobby couldn’t get down there in his chair, and even if he was on good enough terms with his neighbours to ask for help, he was too proud to actually do so. Sam and Dean had moved the machine almost as soon as Bobby got out of the hospital, just before they left to try and track down Lucifer.

“Come on, kid.”

 

.oOo.

 

That first night was quiet enough: Bobby cooked while the three of them did their laundry and cleared some of the crap from the spare room so that Ellie at least had somewhere to sleep. They even found sheets and made all the beds, including Sam and Dean’s ones. They had kind of given up on their beds a long time ago for some reason, and Dean couldn’t fathom why. Sure, they creaked a bit and the mattresses were a bit on the lumpy side, but they were better than the floor, or the elderly sofa downstairs.

Once he got in, he realised why he had stopped using the bed as a teenager: both he and Sam were too tall for the twin beds. Dean could curl a little and fit, but Sam was just far too enormous, which served him right for growing so much. He opted to take the couch after all, leaving Dean in their childhood bedroom on his own. And after a long day’s drive followed by a lot of chores and lifting and carrying, he was exhausted and soon fell asleep.

The next day was chore-laden too: the Impala needed some TLC to make sure she was in prime condition, and Bobby had a couple of cars he was working on that he could use the help with. Sam was put to work on fixing some roof shingles that had slipped over the last year or so and even with his legs back, Bobby was too old to be doing that sort of thing. Ellie made herself useful by continuing to clear the spare room she was sleeping in, then moving on to the kitchen. Bobby did tend to just about look after himself, but no-one would ever accuse him of being clean. It was an occupational hazard of being a mechanic, and Bobby just didn’t bother too much about cleanliness now that Karen was gone again.

She knocked up some toast and eggs for their lunch (she did the eggs weirdly, but they came out okay), and by the time they were thinking about supper, Dean wandered in to find an apple pie cooling on the counter.

“I like cooking,” she said with a shrug, up to her elbows in sudsy dish water. “I just never get a chance to do it.”

Dean knew how that felt – he had discovered, during his year of playing at being domestic, that he liked cooking too, and he was kind of good at it. Better than Ellie, as it turned out, since the pie crust was a bit on the tough side. She’d over-worked the dough. But it was still edible, and the filling was all kinds of awesome (and exactly like Missouri’s, he couldn’t help but notice).

Bobby made them all wash up after they had eaten, and growled at them when Dean started flicking Sam with his tea towel. It was so worth it, because Sam had jumped about a foot in the air with a girly yelp and had landed with a wounded, betrayed expression, like a big, giant girl.

Good food, great company, and teasing Sam in the comfort of their own home? Yeah, life was good right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, this has officially become my longest ever fic (including Field Trip and Five Times...). Gulp.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel accosts Dean

“Yo, Deano.”

What the hell was Gabriel doing in Dean’s dream? This was his and Cas’ space, for when Cas would drop by to say hello when he had a minute or two. And why was the little shit lying on an obnoxiously bright pink pool lounger, floating on the lake? And why did she suddenly look like her old vessel again? Dammit, Dean had only just gotten his pronouns straight.

At least he looked relaxed enough that Dean wasn’t worried about Cas being in trouble.

“What do you want?”

Gabriel, the little bastard, grinned up at him before snapping his fingers and conjuring something cold and fruity and probably alcoholic with a straw and an umbrella and other girly shit.

“Rejoice,” she (he?) said, watching Dean over the ridiculous sugared rim of his glass, his eyes dancing, “for I bring you tidings of great joy.”

Dean snorted and kicked water over the archangel. “Knock it off.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and gave a great, long-suffering sigh as if he was the one being toyed with. “Fine. Killjoy. I’m sending your boyfriend home: he needs some R&R.”

Was Cas safe enough to come back? Because Dean really didn’t want to argue here, he sure as hell would rather see Cas in person than in a dream (which was still better than nothing at all), but he had people he had to look after too: Sam and Bobby and Ellie, and everyone in Sioux Falls too. What if something happened, something went wrong?

“Yeah, I know why you sent him back to me,” Gabriel said lazily, breaking into his thoughts. His eyes were on the sky; specifically the spotty clouds that were interrupting his sunbathing, “and I kind of agreed with you then, but he’s not a machine, kid: he needs a break and so do you.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said quickly, automatically, but Gabriel didn’t look convinced. He said nothing, just sucked on his straw, slurping up the yellow concoction he had created, his eyes fixed on Dean as if he was daring Dean to say it again, to make him believe it.

Dean squirmed uncomfortably and gave up. “Yeah, maybe we could all do with a rest. And it would be good to see Cas.”

“Jeez, don’t injure yourself, Winchester,” Gabriel replied scornfully. “Hope you’re not so emotionally stunted with my brother: he could do with some thorough distraction.”

Dean could feel himself blushing at the amount of innuendo Gabriel had ladled onto that last part. Why did they all seem to think he and Cas were fucking?

Suddenly, the lounger disappeared and Gabriel was sat beside Dean, on the edge of the jetty. His feet were dangling an inch or so off the water, which would be funny under any other circumstance.

“We going to have to have The Talk?”

Dean cringed. Seriously? What did Gabriel think he was, fifteen? Also, he was really, acutely aware that this was Cas’ brother, in a way he wasn’t usually aware of that fact.

“Serious question, Dean,” Gabriel said, his voice more gentle than usual. “Because Cas won’t understand if you decide to have a big gay panic over this. He can’t understand. Hell, even I think it’s weird, and I spent thousands of years down there with you guys.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve got no idea about gender identity.”

He gestured to Gabriel’s body, which he was very much aware had been burned to ashes by Kali weeks ago. Which meant it was a projection.

Gabriel looked down at himself, and looked surprised at how he appeared. Maybe he hadn’t done it on purpose, but that proved Dean’s point all the more.

The archangel shrugged, looking a bit self-conscious. “I spent a long time as Loki, but that doesn’t mean I’m uncomfortable as a woman.” He paused, and all of a sudden her appearance changed, her toes even further away from the water Dean was still cooling his feet in.

“It really doesn’t make much difference to me. My first… three vessels were women, actually. And Cas has been some very foxy ladies in the past too. So, do we have a problem?”

It wasn’t like Dean didn’t know that Cas had taken a female vessel before, but he tried not to think too much about it given that Claire Novak had been all of twelve at the time. But it was just weird thinking about Cas in any other vessel than Jimmy. It was always those blue eyes and the stupid dark, I’ve-just-flown-halfway-round-the-world hair that Dean pictured whenever Cas said anything about his past.

But, former girl vessels or not, Cas was wearing a guy now, and Dean didn’t know what to do with that. It wasn’t a ‘big gay panic’, as Gabriel had so charmingly put it; it was more like a lack of experience. Dean rubbed his face, knowing this was going to be embarrassing and painful, but it needed doing. He actually had the one person who might actually talk to him about this, as long as they could both keep on track and not break out the sarcasm. But he needed something first:

“Dude, can you at least look like you?” he asked. “It’s bad enough that you’re Cas’ brother: I can’t do this when you’re Ellie.”

Gabriel smirked at him and shifted her form to something bright and huge and convoluted and all the colours at once and his mind was just on the verge of going ‘nope’ and crapping out on him when Gabriel shifted back to being a guy once again.

In all fairness, that was probably what Gabriel really did look like, and Dean surprised himself by chuckling.

“Smart ass. Way to not make me conscious of how insignificant I look next to Cas.”

Gabriel fixed him with a level glare. No malice, just making sure Dean was paying attention. “That’s how our brothers see it,” he pointed out. “Cas doesn’t. I don’t: I was made to play on Earth with you guys. Cas… well, I reckon Cas was made a bit like me. Maybe Dad always meant to make him an archangel eventually. But the rest? They don’t get it. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what Cas is up against every day.”

Dean nodded. He remembered too many barbed comments from angels to ever forget just exactly what the majority of them thought of humanity, and of him specifically. Rachel and Balthazar… Holy crap, Balthazar was alive! Sure, he was as much of a dick as the rest, but at least he enjoyed what humanity had to offer him. Maybe they would get on this time around?

“Okay. Okay. So, can you guys actually get off?”

Gabriel gave him an oddly soft smile. “Oh, Dean, you’ve really got no idea, do you?”

“No,” Dean snapped before he could stop himself. “And neither does Cas. He’s not like you – he’s had a body for a couple of years, not thousands. Hell, I didn’t even know angels could have kids until you dropped Ellie on us.”

He paused, thinking about that one for a second. Because he knew some things about Ellie’s family, pieced together between her and Gabriel.

“Okay,” he said slowly, letting himself think aloud for Gabriel’s benefit, “so if you can have kids, you can get your vessel off at least. And since your kid was an accident, I’m guessing you and Lee…”

Dammit, he’d forgotten her name. He knew Ellie was named after her, but it was something weird and German.

“Liesl,” Gabriel supplied helpfully.

“So you and Liesl were screwing for fun? At first?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “Yeah, we can enjoy sex. That’s not the only thing bothering you, though, is it?”

Dean sighed. “No. And I’m not stupid, I know you need lube, but does it really feel good? Do guys really get off on being fucked?”

Gabriel gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, they can, if it’s done right. Some guys really do love taking it, some guys don’t. You’re over-thinking it. Sex isn’t just about shoving your dick into someone, you know. Loads of gay couples never do. It’s about being together and having a good time. And Cas might surprise you: he might not have actual experience, but he knows the limitations, the ins and outs of a human body better than you do. Just… let things take their course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go hit on your brother.”

Dean never quite knew whether or not to take Gabriel seriously when he said that, because sometimes he wondered about those two, and with Ellie involved it was even more complicated. Her and Sam were painfully hilarious together.

But Dean got distracted, because almost as soon as he startled awake, as he always did when he got dream-walked, Cas arrived. In the dim light, he was hard to make out, but that light-coloured coat stood out in the faint moonlight that was trickling in through the shitty, threadbare drapes.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, his voice rough with sleep.

“Dean.” Cas sounded like he was smiling. That was a good sign.

Dean reached out, grabbed Cas’ hand, pulled him close. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, Dean. But I can come back later, once you have slept.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean said as firmly as he could. “Want you here.” He tugged harder on Cas’ hand. “C’mon, get in.”

 

.oOo.

 

Dean woke up slowly, which was something of a luxury really: the number of times he got startled awake either from a nightmare, a dream-walk, or someone physically invading the room was getting to be ridiculous. Today, there was none of that; just warm sunshine, warm bed and the warmth coming from…

“Cas?”

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said, his arms tightening briefly around Dean. “You slept well.”

Dean opened his eyes. He was still at Bobby’s, exactly where he expected to be, but he was lying against Cas, his left ear pressed against the soft cotton of Cas’ white shirt. He could see why girls liked this: he felt really safe here, in Cas’ arms. How many people could say their sleep was guarded over by a freaking _archangel_?

“You okay?” Dean asked, pressing himself further into Cas. “Gabriel said you needed a break.”

“I never truly appreciated how much grace an archangel has,” Cas admitted. “I am struggling a little to use only what I need. But she assures me I will get used to it.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry you’re here,” Dean said, tracing his fingers lightly over the thin fabric of Cas’ shirt. “Been thinking about this for a while.”

Now, wasn’t that interesting? The little catch in Cas’ breathing as his wandering hand flicked over Cas’ left nipple, feeling it harden under his fingertips. Were other parts of Cas hard too? Now that was an interesting thought.

He wriggled himself around a little, so that he could kiss Cas. His angel melted under him, allowing Dean to take things a little further than usual, to distract Cas with a little nibble of his bottom lip and a gentle stroke of his tongue that made Cas gasp. It seemed like Cas had been looking forward to this just as much as Dean, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of this prescribed vacation while they had it.

“Dean?” Cas sounded worried rather than horny, which was a situation Dean was not happy about. Had he misread things? Maybe Gabriel was only talking about himself (herself? Damn archangel and its confusing genders) when he had said about angels being able to enjoy sex? Was this something Cas even wanted?

Cas pulled him close and kissed him fiercely, putting some of his fears to rest.

“I don’t know if I can control myself,” Cas admitted quietly as he held Dean to his chest. “I don’t want to injure you, but I also want this. You have no idea how long I have entertained the idea of this.”

Dean swallowed past a lump in his throat, because he did have an idea. At the time he had thought that Cas had made a mess of things with the hooker because he wasn’t into sex, but it didn’t take him too long to work out the truth. Cas beating the crap out of him while informing Dean of everything he had given up had pretty much been the big clue there. And he now thought it, it had probably been that first Halloween when Sam had kicked Samhain’s ass, where Cas had admitted his doubts about Heaven: that had taken some serious trust on Cas’ part, some serious feelings for Dean even back then.

And how long had Dean wanted Cas for? How long since he let that little seed start to take root in his head? Had it really taken finding out that Cas was lying to him about Crowley and Purgatory for him to realise?

“You won’t hurt me,” Dean assured him, laying his hand over Cas’ heart and feeling its strong beat beneath his palm. “I trust you. And if your shithead brother can do this, so can you.”

There was the tiniest snort of laughter from Cas. Dean manoeuvred himself up so he could see the lines crinkling at the corners of Cas’ eyes; that gentle smile that was only ever his.

“And don’t you say that he’s older, or more experienced or whatever, because you are awesome and I believe in you.”

There was a look of awe on Cas’ face that Dean wasn’t altogether sure he could handle seeing, so he kissed it away; long and hard and deep until he was breathless. He rubbed his hand across the front of Cas’ pants and swallowed the desperate whine that escaped from the angel.

“Dean, I…”

“Trust me,” he whispered as he undid the belt. “Trust your vessel and trust me.”

“I do,” Cas gasped, “but…”

Dean pressed a kiss to the underside of Cas’ jaw. “I got no intention of losing my eyes,” he said. “Trust me.”

So maybe this wasn’t going to be the handjob to end all handjobs and completely blow Cas’ mind, but Dean would find a way to make that happen too, even if it meant more uncomfortable conversations with Gabriel. This was just about allowing Cas to enjoy what humanity could offer him, what Dean could offer him, for now. And if Cas somehow managed to look completely debauched while glowing with the pure white light of his grace, then who was Dean to complain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Parts 2-4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4622394#part2) of ['Five Times Gabriel Tried to Trick Dean'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4622394) occur between this chapter and [Chapter 1 of 'Field Trip'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4391597).
> 
> Field Trip is the next thing to occur in this verse. You may wish to take a detour there before returning for Chapter 11.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Angelic Civil War begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for challenge #137: Air.

Things… weren’t good. Even if he hadn’t seen Gabriel disappear so quickly she didn’t even take the time to leave Ellie behind, Dean would have known things weren’t good. There was something about the air, the way it crackled as if it was full of lightning; the way it was thick and potent and ominous, just like the clouds hanging overhead. Now that it was happening again, Dean remembered this day from last time; remembered thinking of Cas that day, but he hadn’t want to bother him in his important new position. What would have happened if he had? Might the whole thing have been averted?

The weather hadn’t quite seemed so freaksome back then, but Dean put that down to there being more archangels involved this time; hopefully it was Raphael’s ass being kicked rather than Cas’ this time, but Dean suspected that it wasn’t going to be that simple. He knew, deep down, that the battle lines were being drawn in Heaven for a second (third?) time, that Cas and Gabriel were going to have to fight for their lives and for free will.

Dammit, this was not supposed to happen.

Dean growled in frustration and kicked the balustrade that surrounded Bobby’s porch. The elderly wood cracked and splintered, drawing another curse from him. Still, at least needing to repair Bobby’s porch gave Dean something to do other than mope about whatever was going on in Heaven, because it wasn’t like he could do anything about that.

Sam poked his head out while Dean was measuring up for a new piece of wood.

“Did it do something to offend you?” he asked, looking more cheerful than anyone had any right to be. But he came bearing coffee, which just about got him forgiven for his sunny mood.

Dean shrugged and took a gulp of the unfeasibly strong brew of hunters. Sam would know exactly what had happened, because he knew Dean. It also wasn’t the first time this had happened: Dean still knew the dimensions of Pastor Jim’s balusters by heart, he had replaced so many of them.

“Man, it feels bad out here,” Sam said, stepping further out onto the porch and rubbing his arms as if to dissipate the crackling feeling that crawled across his skin. The wind was just starting to pick up, and maybe they would have been able to convince themselves that it was just a summer storm coming in, except that they both knew better.

“Yeah.” Dean pencilled marks onto a decent-looking plank of wood Bobby had had lying around and tried not to think about what Sam was saying. There were better things to do than think about what Sam was trying to talk about, like repairing the damage he had done to the porch while thinking about what Sam was trying to talk about.

“Any… uh…” Sam shuffled about, then sat down on the steps and tried to make himself look as small as possible, hunched over his coffee cup. “Any insight on how this plays out?”

Dean shot him a look and turned back to the wood, making sure his measurements were perfect before he committed to cutting.

“Come on, Dean. You must know something.”

Dean set everything down very deliberately. “You want to know what happened last time? It dragged on over a year. Cas got into some really shady crap just to keep one step ahead of Raphael. Really, really shady. He killed Raphael, but lost himself in the process and tried to take you with him. Happy?”

“Dean, I…”

Sam had that confused, sympathetic look and Dean couldn’t stand it. “I’m going out,” he announced shortly, pulling the car keys from his pocket.

 

.oOo.

 

He stopped the car only a few miles down the road, too annoyed with himself to carry on. He hated that Sam could push him into things like that, into revealing secrets he was trying so hard to keep from everyone. He hated this feeling of complete helplessness, because Cas was in danger up in Heaven, because there could very well be a battle raging up there and Cas would be right on the front lines, because that’s who he was. Archangel he might be, but he would never hide behind the lines just because of his rank: he would be fighting alongside those his brothers and sisters who also believed in free will, forced into fighting the ones who didn’t, who preferred the status quo.

“Hey, Cas.” It helped to say the words aloud, even if he knew Cas didn’t need them in order to hear a prayer. “I don’t want to distract you or anything, but… stay safe, yeah? And kick his ass.”

As he watched the skies, there seemed to be a break in the cloud; just enough to let a little sun through to brighten up Dean’s day. For a fanciful moment, he thought it might be Cas looking down at him. But just as quickly, there was an almighty flash of lightning and the clouds turned black, the little hole closing up. Within seconds, the rain was hammering down, bouncing off the road. Dean knew he didn’t want to be caught out in this for too long and, flicking on the wipers, turned the car around and headed back.

 

.oOo.

 

Sam had made a valiant start on the baluster, and had obviously cleared away the tools when the monsoon had started. Dean shook his head ruefully: Sam had gone from being an irritating pain in his behind to treasured little brother in under an hour. And Dean would never hate him for that ability; never take a gesture like that for granted again, because Dean knew how bad things could have been with Sam. RoboSam probably would have pushed Dean for the info about the civil war, but he wouldn’t have thought to bring coffee out with him, and he certainly wouldn’t have tried to clean up Dean’s mess. And crazy Sam might have thought about doing it, but probably would have ended up having an argument with Lucifer instead.

Yeah, Sammy – sane Sammy – was awesome, even if he was annoying as all fuck sometimes.

 

.oOo.

 

The storm raged all night, and half the next day, before the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Bobby demanded that Sam and Dean make themselves useful and check the roof for loose shingles while he finished off the porch.

It was kind of peaceful up on the still-damp roof, checking carefully to make sure that Bobby wasn’t going to get his prize collection of plaid rained on like he had about ten years back when a series of February storms had struck when they had all been away on hunts. There was a singular purpose to the task that took his mind off worrying about whether or not Cas was still okay, whether Ellie was okay. And, fine, he kind of cared whether or not Gabriel was all right too.

As it turned out, there was a whole patch of shingles that had started to lift, and would leak if the rain got in the wrong way. By the time they finished nailing them down, both Sam and Dean were tired and hungry. Bobby provided them with better food than he normally did – fairly standard for when they did some work around the house, because he might be surly but he wasn’t ungrateful – and they were both asleep the instant they collapsed into their beds.

 

.oOo.

 

“Hey, Cas.”

Tonight’s dreamscape wasn’t anything fancy; Cas just climbed into bed with him and curled into his side. The only thing that gave it away as a dream was that the room was much fresher – like it had been twenty years ago, when Dean first slept there.

“You okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

He held Cas close, because that was what Cas seemed to want. And it wasn’t as if it was a hardship for him.

“I am unharmed,” Cas said slowly, and Dean was sure he only spoke to stop Dean from worrying. “But too many of my brothers were injured. Or…”

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Cas’ head. Cas responded desperately, lifting his head and pulling Dean into an urgent, demanding kiss, all teeth and tongue and absolutely no finesse whatsoever. Dean held Cas firmly, reassuring him that he wasn’t going anywhere, and tried to slow things down a little. Not that he wasn’t an advocate of fucking away his grief, but that was him and this was Cas. If Cas truly wanted that, then Dean would be there for him, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t really about physicality for Cas: it was about the soul-touching thing.

Eventually, Cas responded to Dean’s calm, the frantic edge fading. He slumped onto Dean’s chest, tucking his head under Dean’s chin kind of like Sam used to do as a little kid. Kind of like Lisa would do on occasion, when she wanted comforting.

“In Heaven, I had a friend,” Cas said into the night. “He spoke up for me when no-one else did. He never seemed to care very much that I was odd. He died in the battle today.”

Something about that seemed familiar to Dean. Where had he heard that before? In some grand house; another asshole angel, but at least he was on Cas’ side.

“Balthazar?”

Cas looked up suddenly, his eyes huge. “You know of him?”

Dean chuckled and kissed the end of Cas’ nose. “Yeah. And he’s not dead. Or, at least, he didn’t die last time: he faked it so he could skip town with a bunch of weapons.”

Cas went still and very angel-like. “Dean, are you certain?” Cas’ voice was very careful, like he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Don’t even get me started on what that asshat did to us. I swear he was taking tips from Gabriel.”

“That certainly sounds like Balthazar,” Cas said carefully. “Gabriel, Dean says that Balthazar… Wait, what weapons?”

Dean had been wondering when Cas would clue into that one. What he hadn’t expected was the second archangel at the foot of their bed, sat like he belonged there.

“Um… Staff of Moses was the only one I saw,” Dean admitted. “Think you said something about him having some crystal from Sodom. Whole bunch of Biblical shit.”

“And Balthazar has stolen these weapons?”

Dean nodded, and Gabriel laughed gleefuly.

“That’s my boy.”

“Knew he was one of yours,” Dean said to him. “He had you written all over him. How’s Ellie?”

Gabriel glanced to his left, and suddenly Ellie was sat there too, her legs slung over the edge the opposite way from Gabriel so that they leaned against each other; as together in the dream world as they were in reality.

“Hey, Dean. It’s been… different. Shitty. But I’m okay. You?”

“So, skinny on Balthazar?” Gabriel interrupted impatiently before Dean could respond. “You know where he’s holed up?”

Dean thought on that for a moment. “We found him in Easter, Pennsylvania, but that was a year from now. I don’t know if he’s there right now.”

“It seems as good a place as any to begin a search for him, once we are able,” Cas said. “When we have enough of a reprieve to risk leaving Heaven.”

Dean tightened his hold on Cas just a little, to get his attention. “You want me and Sam to go check it out?”

Cas wanted to say yes, Dean knew, because he desperately wanted to know if his friend was alive. But that wasn’t what came out of his mouth:

“Perhaps that might not be the best idea: Balthazar does not find humanity detestable as many of our siblings do, but neither is he particularly fond of you.”

Dean snorted, remembering Balthazar’s penchant for the high life. “Oh, he will be. I’ll hang fire for a week or so, let him get his feet under the table, stash those weapons nice and safe, let him discover the joys of champagne and caviar and group sex.”

Gabriel chortled merrily, but Cas looked scandalised.

“Sounds like something I want to be in on,” Gabriel announced.

“You can find a different vessel,” Ellie said firmly. “You are not using me to sleep your way across the planet.”

He rolled his eyes. “Prude. What the…?!”

He and Ellie blinked out of the dream as swiftly as they had appeared. Cas sighed and pressed a very quick kiss to Dean’s jawline.

“Stay safe,” Dean said. Cas nodded once and disappeared too, leaving Dean wide awake in a crummier version of the same room and the same bed.

“Dammit,” he said softly into the darkness before closing his eyes and trying to get some actual rest. It was a bit more elusive now that he was positive that the guys upstairs were in danger once more.

He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and slipped out of bed, down the stairs and coaxed Bobby’s computer to life. If he was going to have to wait to do something useful for Cas, then he would find something else useful to do in the meantime. There had to still be monsters out there needing to be killed, didn’t there? People to save; normal things to hunt. Him and Sam and the family business.

**Author's Note:**

> I really appreciate all the comments and kudos you guys have been leaving. It's so wonderful to know that people are sticking with me through the irregular updates and everything.
> 
> Just so you know, my Sabriel Big Bang has spiralled out of control, and is being split into two parts. While the first fic will be posted in February, I intend to submit the second half to the Gabriel Big Bang in June, which means that I might well be indisposed for longer than I originally intended. But I will still keep posting as regularly as I can. I love this fic and its weird little world.


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